Flames
by Maveryn08
Summary: "The power the Dark Lord knows not." They all said it was love, but when Harry Potter can make flames appear on his palms, he learns to doubt their words. After all, only powerful wizards can do such a thing, and perhaps the most powerful of them all was destined to... which is it? Aid the Dark Lord? Or kill him? Rated M for violence. On HIATUS indefinitely.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:**

**This is my first ever fanfiction, so you know, I have no idea what I'm doing.**

**Any feedback/criticism/guidance is always welcome, and feel free to point every little thing that sucks about the story.**

**Happy reading.**

* * *

The boy raised his head slowly, feeling a deep, guttural cry escape his lips.

It did nothing to scare his attacker, a plump boy of perhaps five, wielding a great stick, surrounded by a pack of children.

"Look at me," his attacker jeered. "I'm scared, oh, so scared of you, Harry!"

The young boy felt something hot rush through his body, a deep sort of hatred and malevolence that coursed through his veins. With a shaky hand, he got up from the ground.

The pack of children laughed and sneered, watching the frail little boy getting beat to pulp by his cousin.

And then suddenly, as Harry clutched his forehead in pain, a breath of cold air descended upon all the young children, whistling a dark, desperate tune. It brushed through them all, leaving a feeling of sadness and despair upon them. Some even cried.

All at once, it seemed, the group of children ran away.

Harry was left on the asphalt breathing ragged breaths, with a split lip and a myriad of splotchy bruises on his legs. His hair was matted, silky and dark, now glued to his forehead with sweat. They glimmered in the afternoon sun, barely concealing a thin red jagged line. Not a cut, or anything of that sort.

It was a scar. A _lightning_ scar.

Sometimes, Harry liked to pretend it was an omen, foretelling the extraordinary life he would live.

When he got home, the sky was a deep shade of blue, dark and inky. Aunt Petunia hadn't even spared his disfigured features a mere second glance, sending him off to bed in his tiny little cupboard with a piece burnt toast and a glass of stale water.

Resentment burned in the mind of the young boy. The throbbing in the back of his head was temporarily muted, replaced with a profound sense of bitterness.

This wasn't _fair_. He had seen the foods and drinks his oaf of a cousin, Dudley received. Why couldn't he have the same?

Bright flames, hotter than a thousand stars burst onto his hands, crackling with rancor and contempt. They shined bright yellow, almost white, throwing his humble abode in sharp relief.

A patched blanket lay on the floor, surrounded by an assortment of odd trinkets he must have found. Spiders, dark and ever-moving, scurried away upon the sight of the sudden light.

In a flare of panic, the boy scrunched his hands together, flapping them multiple times before the flames went out. Darkness seeped into the cupboard once more, and Harry flopped onto his frayed blanket, feeling suddenly drained and tired.

Someone must have heard the ruckus he made, for not-too-soon after, a loud thumping could be heard, and there was a bang, as someone forced open the door.

A walrus-shaped man and a poorly coiffed moustache appeared, glaring his beady eyes at Harry Potter. Grumbling and cursing with some very choice words, Uncle Vernon appeared in his magnificent glory.

"What're you doing now, boy?"

"Nothing -"

"A likely story," he harrumphed. "Keep quiet, you waste of space. Some of us are trying to do something important!"

He slammed the door shut, and once more, the room was drowned in darkness.

His screaming and yelling used to scare Harry. When he was younger, his nightmares would feature Uncle Vernon screaming obscenities, and Aunt Petunia shrieking madly. He used to cower in the corners whenever he saw either of them approaching.

But then he realized - there was nothing they could do to him.

He was already shoved into a dark cupboard, and he was already fed meagre portions. Nothing could possibly be worse than that.

A sense of satisfaction spread through Harry's mind, a sweet, delicious feeling that he grasped onto with all his might.

Yes, he was practically immune to anything his relatives did.

Flames burst once more on his palms.

They were as scaldingly hot as before, but fueled with a sweet sense of vengeance.

Harry didn't try to stop them, as they caught fire on his old spread. They glittered this time, instead of flaring, shining all sorts of shades of orange. The cover didn't even seem like it was burning. It looked more like gems, sewn onto a piece of cloth, emitting their own bright glow.

It was a pretty sight, and Harry added more will to the flames.

The fire spread to his tiny trinkets, but one; spreading onto the walls, onto the door and onto the floor, until a thick layer of dark smoke coated everything in the room.

A beeping had spread through the house, and there could be shrieks heard as footsteps, quick and heavy, descended the stairs. Voices, high-pitched and filled with anxiety were howling through the room, and someone was talking animatedly, more stumbling, as she called for help.

But it was too late.

The fire burst through the door, and leapt into the living room, consuming all it touched and leaving nothing to be found.

There and then, as Harry walked through his cupboard coughing from the terrible smoke, he saw a gut-wrenching sight.

Bright flames covered everything in sight, dancing and moving with no end. Aunt Petunia screamed and thrashed, molested by the sudden light kisses. Uncle Vernon had stopped moving entirely, collapsed onto the glass coffee table, his skin burnt and cracked in some places, vivid orange in others.

The only person who seemed to have noticed Harry was Dudley, cowering on top of the fallen television.

He said no words, but from the look he gave, it was clear what he wanted.

The flames gave off a searing heat, but as Harry waded through them, they felt warm and comforting.

Did he truly want to save his cousin?

It was a difficult question to answer.

As he stood in the middle of the room, flames leaping off his skin, embers flowing to the ceiling, noxious smoke clouding his lungs, Harry felt something else, that he hadn't felt, ever.

A strange emotion, pitying, almost.

He slapped his hands together, ridding them of the fiery flames. Wordlessly, he raised them to Dudley.

His cousin hardly whimpered, sounding very unlike the bully he was.

"Well," Harry said, "are you coming or not?"

But all Dudley could do was wimper pitifully.

The flames consumed Harry's hands once more, and raced up the television. They licked the edges of Dudley's shoes, and with tears streaming down his pudgy face, he fell. A sudden crackling could be heard, and the smell of burning flesh could be briefly smelt over the smoke.

The ceiling broke over Harry, and all at once, the house imploded.

Debris was sent flying through the air, and he was catapulted out of the house, flailing onto the grass.

Flames continued to leap over him, burning away his clothes until he lay naked on the ground.

Far, far away, sirens could be heard.

Neighbours, filled with pompous curiosity peaked their heads through the windows. Nearby, an old woman ran down the street, a litter of cats trailing behind her. She seemed to yell something, almost near hysteria, before running back to her house, and taking a pinch of green-ish powder and sprinkling them into the flames of her fireplace.

She stuck her head inside, and then took it out. Following behind her, in elegant periwinkle robes, a wizened old man followed behind her, a long silky white beard trailing behind him as they broke into a run.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Was this a bit too brutal?**

**I wrote all of this in the period of one day, right after reading Game of Thrones. Probably not my smartest decision.**

**Oh well.**

**Most chapters after this will probably be a bit longer, and the story will start moving - pinky promise.**

**See all of you guys in a bit!**

**Cheers.**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**

**I know I said they would be weekly updates _but_, there were just so many people reading it (compared, at least, to the amount of views I get on Wattpad), that I really didn't want to wait any longer to post Chapter 2.**

**To all the people who took some time out of their day to read this, _thank you, thank you, thank you!_**

* * *

"What are we to do, Albus?" said the old woman worriedly. She clutched her handbag tightly, and glanced down at the boy.

Bloody cuts macerated Harry's body, his face was swollen and red, the lightning scar almost hidden in the mess. A yellow paste had been applied to his wounds, giving off green fumes.

They stood around a cot, Albus wringing his hands gravely, the old woman pale and shaky. A third person stood, stoic and calm, a spotless apron tied around her waist.

"He'll make a full recovery," said the woman helpfully. "Although how long it'll take, I can't say."

"Thank you, Poppy, Arabella. Could I have a moment -?"

Immediately, the two women left, pushing apart the curtains.

Albus sank into the chair beside the cot and stared gravely into the child's face.

It was strange.

The wards around his family home had shown no signs of any sort of dark magic, and if Arabella's words were to go by, there had been no unusual activity. The fire was sudden, a muggle accident if anything.

It must have been pure luck that the boy was alive, if a bit worse for wear.

And yet...

Albus looked over him one more time.

He was undressed, eyes closed to the world, a small, frail thing.

The essence of Dittany was busy at work, trying desperately to repair the broken skin, and yet, his condition remained the same after hours and hours. Poppy hadn't reported a single burn of any sort, but did say the boy was feeling abnormally hot.

She had fed him some Pepper Up potion, but now, looking at Harry, Albus wasn't sure it was a fever the young boy was having.

What had gone wrong?

If a muggle household, far away from all magical influence could manage to cause such devastation, then where was Harry Potter truly the safest?

At a muggle orphanage?

No, Tom Riddle had once lived there, and the results were depressing as they were.

Putting up the young boy for muggle adoption would leave him in an even more unprotected environment than before.

Perhaps, if Harry were to be taken in by a wizard...

A quick list of all witches and wizards with children around Harry's age flew through his mind, yet Albus felt a feeling of foreboding. There would be no way to have Harry Potter adopted swiftly and without issue.

The closest blood relatives to the young boy were the Malfoys, a family of old and traditional wizards, who had once supported Voldemort in the last Wizarding War. There would be no way in _Merlin, _that Albus Dumbledore would allow the great saviour of the Wizarding World to be raised by the devoted followers of the one what had planned its downfall.

Which left only one option.

_Here, at Hogwarts, and you know that._

Albus Dumbledore straightened himself.

There was no use trying to deny the inevitable. Harry Potter, the great Boy-Who-Lived, would become a ward of the castle, under the pretense of protecting the young boy.

Dawn came not too long afterwards.

There would be a meeting scheduled with all the members of the Hogwarts Board of Governors today. A most perfect opportunity to speak to them all about young Harry Potter and his dire need for protection.

Yet, as he dressed in his finest blue robes, Albus knew that today would be no easy day. Lucius Malfoy was the chairman of the board, and would put up a great fight to stop his plans.

Students, in all different coloured ties milled about in the Great Hall, laughing, talking, screaming. Sudden bangs could be heard, followed by an abrupt explosion of smoke.

Taking his seat at the Staff's Table, Albus could see all from his raised seat, mockingly made to resemble a muggle throne.

Being the headmaster of an internationally renowned school tended to have its benefits, yes.

He would soon come to regret his thoughts, as he sat around a circular table, watching twelve other wizards, outstanding in their own respects debate about all sorts of mundane things.

Finally, finally, after they all agreed not to replace the school's broomsticks (which had been new back when Albus himself had been a student), the great headmaster rose, and with a grave but passionate voice, he told the ensemble:

"My good friends, a grave tragedy has fallen upon us. The young boy, Harry Potter has recently lost the life of his beloved guardians -"

And all at once, shouts could be heard in the room.

The group of twelve witches and wizards, once composed and elegant found themselves emitting gasps of shock and words of condolences. There was even a shout or two, and none louder than Lucius Malfoy.

"Tell me, Headmaster," he said loudly, silvery hair glinting from the candles. "How exactly does this pertain to the education of today's youth?"

"I was getting to that," said Albus. "In order to foster a safe environment for the young boy -"

"You want him to live at Hogwarts?"

There was a series of quickly muffled snickers that passed through the room.

"As a ward of the castle, yes." Albus adjusted his spectacles and looked down gravely at each member of the board. "You must understand who exactly I speak of -"

"We all heard you very well, Headmaster," said Lucius. "You intend to bring along a - what was it? Yes, a six-year-old boy into your custody, _disregarding the complete fact, _that _my wife _is his closest blood relative. And therefore, the custody of Harry Potter, _the Boy-Who-Lived, _goes to _me._"

Albus felt his thoughts race as he tried desperately to refute that argument. "Yes, well, you see, Druella and Cygnus had _three _daughters, Andromeda, Bellatrix and Narcissa. You married the youngest of the three, and since Bellatrix is incapacitated, guardianship of Harry Potter goes to Andromeda."

It wouldn't go as how Albus had planned, but he would do anything and everything in his power to ensure that the child of the prophecy would never be raised by Death Eater's hands.

"We'll hear about what the Wizengamot has to say about that, Headmaster."

Lucius Malfoy rose from his chair, and without a word, turned on his heel, robes billowing from an imaginary wind.

"Well," said Albus benignly. "I see that we are all dismissed. Good day to all."

As expected, Lucius Malfoy worked quickly, amassing followers and bribing ministerial officials. He could be seen spending an inordinate amount of time walking alongside Minister Fudge (more than usual, which meant much). He could be seen talking to Griselda Marchbanks and even Amelia Bones, although Albus knew it would do no good to try and bribe those two witches. Never in his life had he met such upstanding and moral ministerial workers.

Lucius continued, nonetheless, spending time talking to all sorts of higher-ups until - an emergency session of the Wizengamot was called, and all at once, Albus knew the man had finished spinning his silken web.

A hundred witches and wizards entered the courtroom, dressed in plum-coloured robes with a tasteful 'W' stitched onto the left-breast pocket in silvery thread. Albus himself had overseen the design of the new garments and felt particularly proud of their creation.

On any normal occasion, he would have taken a seat at the very front, place deign for Chief Warlock, yet today, he'd be spoken against by the plaintiff, and had temporarily given up his role to Griselda Marchbanks, who he was sure would preside over the court with justice and honour.

Today, Albus Dumbledore sat with the rest of the Wizengamot, and had even pulled on a plum-coloured robe.

"Thank you all for coming here today," Lucius began, standing in the centre of the floor, no longer wearing his customary Wizengamot robes. Instead, they were a fine black-and-green pair, with the insignia of the Malfoy house stitched in silver thread. "I must apologise for rousing you all at such an early time, on a weekend, no less. But what I must speak to you all about is a pressing matter, and something of my great concern." He left a pause there, and circled his impassive gaze on everyone else. "It was only a couple days ago that we last had our Board of Governor's meeting. As you all know, _I_ am the chairman, and it came to my great concern when Albus Dumbledore announced, to us all, twelve, good-hearted witches and wizards, that Harry Potter, yes, the _Boy-Who-Lived,_ had recently lost the life of his legal guardians."

Gasps rose from the audience, but none could seem to formulate a response.

"At first, I thought the same you all must have: 'Oh, the poor boy, what shall happen to him?', but then, my thoughts flew to a second, less obvious question, and I realized: how might this pertain to Hogwarts? And as you all know, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore answered my question and told me, that he proposed we, the Board of Governors, sworn to act in the school's best interest - that we allow Harry Potter... reside in Hogwarts for the _next five years._

Voices rose, as Albus expected the too, and many witches and wizards allowed their opinion to be heard.

From the very front of the gallery, a witch scoffed loudly and at the top her lungs said, "That's absurd! Any right given to a child like that must be given to all others!"

"Exactly my thoughts," said Rigel Dunkerque, a newly-made member, and a muggleborn as well. "There is already a significant disadvantage that us muggleborn face -"

"_No one cares about you and your rights,"_ said Belvina Black. "I only want to know why the Black family hasn't been given custody of the young boy yet. After all, Dumbledore, aren't _we_ his closest blood relatives?"

More and more voices joined in the rally, some insisting the great Albus Dumbledore must have his reasons, others believing he had gone mad.

It was only after Griselda Marchbanks pounded her gavel a total of three times and used the _Sonorus_ charm to yell "_SILENCE!_", did quiet return.

"Albus Dumbledore," she said. "Your reasoning, if you may?"

He rose from his chair and walked to the center of the assembly. "Thank you, Madame Marchbanks. I want all of you to know that your devotion towards Hogwarts and the education of your youth is admirable. As the Headmaster of said school, I am deeply honoured to know that so many witches and wizards are ready to fight tooth-and-nail for the very best experience that their children can receive. But I must insist. This is, as you can all see, a special scenario, in which an influential young wizard _has _no legal guardian. He is weak in that way, and available to be manipulated by some _choice_ guardians."

"_Are you insulting my family, Dumbledore?"_ Belvina rose once more, her sharp features shown into immediate focus, her fury seeming to roll off in waves.

"Of course not, Lady Black. I only intended to point out the danger our young hero may face without a suitable legal guardian."

"_And you think the most Ancient and Noble house of Black shall not suffice?_"

Albus pressed his fingertips together and mustered the very best magnanimous look he could procure, but it did no good.

Shouts had already risen from the room, mostly from the traditionalist families, who believed in blood purity and were more often than not, extremely wealthy.

"_Silence_," demanded Madame Marchbanks. "Lord Malfoy, a word, if you may."

"Of course, Madame. I'd like to remind you all, that it was the house of Malfoy that put this all to your attention, meaning it is _the house of Malfoy_, and _not Black_, who intends to adopt Harry Potter. As you may all know, my wife is the magnificent Narcissa Malfoy nee Black. She is, of course, the closest blood relative to Harry Potter _worthy_," he cast a look at Albus,_ "_of raising Harry Potter. On behalf of my wife, I would like to petition for custody of the young boy."

"And," Belvina Black jumped to her feet, "the house of Black also intends to petition for the custody of _their rightful heir._"

"All of this," Madame Marchbanks sighed, "can be decided at a later date. For now, allow me to make it very clear: Harry Potter may be the Boy-Who-Lived, but he is, under no circumstances, an object to be paraded around. All those wishing to petition for guardianship of the young boy must truly have his well-being at heart. Until then, he shall remain, as Albus Dumbledore has proposed, a ward of the castle. This court session is now adjourned."

She banged her gavel twice, and at once, everyone started to speak.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Less bloody, right?**

**These first few chapters of the book are like filler ones, to explain everything that's going to happen.**

**They're a bit boring, I know, but I promise, once most of the stuff has been addressed, the story will pick up the pace, probably to Harry's first year.**

**To my readers out there, hang tight.**

**Cheers.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:**

**You guys have no idea how tempted I was to post this chapter before Wednesday, but a promise is a promise, and I already broke it once. Thanks to everyone who took some time out of their day to read my story, and a special thanks to a Guest reviewer who praised my story. (You made my day, thank you so much :) )**

**All of this has made me so, so happy, and just... super excited to wake up every morning and check how many new readers I've reached.**

**Once again, thanks to everyone who's waited out the week-long wait for the newest chapter.**

**Cheers.**

* * *

Harry Potter dreamed of his hands, scratched and worn from all the falls he had taken.

They shined and glittered, glowing orange and bright. Flames burned white, but they offered no comfort him.

They hurt. Like a thousand fire ants, biting and ripping at his hands. And yet, the skin remained intact, soft and fleshy, kissed by the fire, assaulted by its fury, but perfect as before.

"Stop," he cried. "Please, god, oh, god. Someone. _Stop it please_."

"_Awake," _ it whispered. "_After all these years..."_

It was dark and booming, a terrifying sound, coming from the black abyss that he stood inside.

"Please," Harry whispered. "Please. It hurts so _bad._"

Slowly, the orange gems flitted from his hands, and spread up his wrists. They crawled up his arms and spread to his chest, licking and whispering, condemning the boy to a painful death.

"Please," he gasped, feeling a searing heat inch up his neck. "I'm _sorry. _Just - just _stop_."

But the flames did not cease.

(O.O)

"How is he, Poppy?"

Albus stood over the young boy. The cuts were healed, but a strange, new ailment overcame the young boy. Dark, jagged lines covered his hands, and they bled with an orange liquid, spilling onto the sheets.

It wasn't blood, Poppy had assured him, but an unknown substance that neither of them seemed to be able to identify.

As it was, Albus didn't have much time to spare by the bedside of young Harry Potter. Word had spread far and wide through the Wizarding World that their saviour had lost his guardians. Few knew he was also in a magically induced coma, and fewer knew of the strange blood that bled from dark scars.

Most influential families had put up claims, insisting they were the rightful guardians of the young boy.

Augusta Longbottom, _Dame_ Longbottom, it should be said, had insisted that she was the rightful guardian, seeing as her daughter-in-law, Alice, had been named godmother of the boy. Belvina had used the same argument, and insisted that Sirius Black had been named godfather, and therefore the right of guardianship remained with her. With that, and having a Black as a grandmother made Harry Potter a most definite member of the Black family.

The argument raged on and on, never meeting an end.

The official hearing would not be for a long time, seeing as the child himself must be present.

That of course, never stopped rumors, crafted by the most devious members of the families, trying desperately to show that they were a superior choice to all.

Everyone now knew that the great Harry Potter was kept inside Hogwarts, and many curious eyes had been hungry for a peek, adults and children alike.

Severus Snape, the potions master in a long, billowing black cloak had often stopped by to take samples of the glutinous orange liquid.

Minerva McGonagall and Filius Flitwick spent their every moment available searching for charms and spells, while Pomona Sprout, professor of Herbology, grew twice as many plants as before, to fuel Severus' potions.

They would meet once a week to discuss about the young boy, the four heads of houses, the Headmaster and the nurse, in the infirmary, close to midnight.

Tonight was one of those nights.

Six chairs had been assembled, and a candle lit on the bedside table.

It cast an eerie, warm glow, that only extended so far.

Severus, who had a propensity for darkness, always sat furthest away from the candle. Tonight, he had no such luck, and sat directly beside the candle. It cast a warm glow lighting the crevices of his premature wrinkles, glowing an unearthly orange, just like the mysterious ailment.

Minerva sat with her tartan askew, much more wan than Albus would have liked.

In fact, all of them looked unhealthy and tired, grey hairs cropping up on everyone.

Their collective efforts had taken a toll, but it had its purposes, and they all knew just how important the work truly was.

"He started thrashing today, Albus," Poppy said worriedly. "It was midday, I believe, just as some fourth years came for a mild case of acne. His arms... oh, they were punching, moving, hitting, almost as if he were locked in an invisible battle."

"But he's stopped now," Albus said.

"Yes, but only after I administered triple the normal amount of sedatives. What _happened, _Albus?"

"You know as well as I do," he said. "Arabella said the house had gone in flames. Harry was the only survivor, and lucky he is."

"Indeed," Minerva muttered.

"No magical fire I've been able to find will cause dark scars like that," Filius squeaked. He was part-goblin, and stood about three feet tall.

"Indeed," Severus was forced to admit.

"I've been consulting my books, and reading everything there is to know in the restricted section, yet I find nothing." Pomona sighed.

"I have, however, come to a discovery," Severus said quietly.

"Well? Go on, then." Minerva eyes him impatiently.

"The liquid is neither flammable, nor can it be used to douse flames. It has seemingly no boiling point, and has never frozen, despite the coldest of temperatures. And, as you all know, it is burning to the touch."

"Which means?" Pomona asked.

"_Fire,_" Severus said impatiently. "_Fire_, can never be frozen, never be on fire, never used to stop fire, has no boiling point, can never freeze and is burning to the touch."

"I'm afraid I've misinterpreted your words," Filius said, "but do you mean to tell us all that... young Harry... is bleeding... fire?"

"Yes," he whispered hoarsely.

"If that true -" Poppy began.

"It _is_ true," Severus insisted. "Why else do you think he thrashes like that? It is not a fight he is animating. Think, the _Cruciatus Curse_. The victims twitch as the boy does. They would howl too, but he is so extremely in pain that his brain has stopped doing unnecessary functions."

Albus felt unease trickle down his throat.

"Alright," Poppy said slowly. "Then we shall treat him as we would treat any person who has suffered the long-term effects of the - the curse."

Her breathing hitched for a moment, and they all knew why.

Their thoughts turned to Alice and Frank Longbottom, who had been tortured until insanity by the curse. That had been after only five minutes.

When Harry would wake up, _if Harry would wake up_, how would he be?

What sort of saviour of the Wizarding World becomes reduced to a garbling mess?

The publicity, the press, they would trample over each other, desperate to get a sweet morsel of the story, to find out about the great Boy-Who-Lived, drooling and moaning, staring blankly and nothing more.

"We must hope for the best," Pomona said solemnly. "Perhaps it is unlike the Cruciatus curse in a way that the mind can protect itself. I suppose the next step for all of us is to start doing research into the _Cruciatus Curse_ and its treatments."

"Well said, Pomona," Albus said. "I believe that's all for tonight. I'll see you all on the morrow, then. Do your best to catch some rest. Goodnight, to all."

They rose, and quietly, murmuring goodbyes, left the infirmary. 

(O.O) 

"Let me go," Harry whispered. "Please. I - I never meant to do anything wrong to you. I - I'm sorry about my family. It... it was an accident, I swear it -"

_"Lies,_" the voice hissed. It sounded eerily like a snake. Red eyes flickered open, a dark slit in the centre, a malformed pupil. "_It wasn't an accident. You did that on purpose, didn't you?"_

_"_I - I did, and - and - and I'm sorry. Really. I'M SORRY."

The glittering flames had crawled all over him by now, biting and gnashing at his skin, but it never gave way. Harry wished they did, so he could die and be free of this pain.

"_Don't be _sorry_," _the voice hissed. "_Your power was meant to be _used, _not locked away behind human prejudice. Come on. Rise, like you were meant to do."_

"I - I can't. The pain is too much -"

The flames turned a bright white, burning and crackling. Harry let out a scream, so loud and powerful his throat hurt, and when he tried to speak again, nothing came but moans.

"Stop it," he pleaded. "Stop it, stop it, _STOP IT_."

"_At what cost?" _ the voice whispered. "_What are you willing to do?"_

"Kill me," Harry said. "Kill me. Now."

"_Death?_" the voice said. It sounded almost... incredulous. But Harry couldn't be sure. The flames lessened their hold for a moment, and he felt as if he could breathe a bit better. "_You want death? Oh, alright, you _will _die one day, I suppose, but not now. No, not now. I'm looking for something greater. Come on. Or do you want to feel more of this -"_

The red eyes flashed, and the flames turned bright scarlet, and burned hotter than ever before. Harry didn't try to fight. He let the pain, a thousand, thousand fire ants - he let them all rip at his chest and tear away his cheeks. He let them all feast on his legs and chomp on his back.

_Please,_ Harry wished. _Kill me, so that I'll never have to face this again._

But all the wishing did no good. The flames continued to dance and move, consuming his skin, but nothing deeper than that.

"Fine," he rasped. "I - I - I'll do it. Just... leave me alone..."

"_You'll do anything I say, won't you?"_

"_Yes_," Harry moaned. "Yes, yes, yes. Just please - _STOP."_

"_So you pledge yourself to my service, Harry Potter?"_

_"Yes, yes, yes. Please... stop."_

The red eyes blinked, and slowly, appearing from the darkness, greyish smoke blew around him.

"_Do you swear to do all as I say?" _He hissed.

"Yes, yes, yes," Harry whimpered. "Just... please... _stop_."

"_Alright, then. As you say."_

And all of a sudden, the great fire was gone, the kisses erased, and for a moment, Harry could feel bliss, fine and sweet.

"_Wake up, Harry Potter. You have a job to do._"

And slowly, the darkness started to lighten, until black became white, and that white became a swarm of colours and then -

"He's awake, Albus," someone said.

And for a moment, all Harry could do was scream.

His screams pierced the silence, raw and throaty, deep and desperate.

And as he screamed and yelled and kicked, Poppy rushed around him, and Albus did his best to cast a series of complicated charms.

They were so busy worrying, so busy trying to help, that neither noticed his eyes, once green like the fields of summer, now red. They were red with blood and red vengeance.

But it lasted only for a moment, and then they were back to green. But not Lily's green eyes anymore.

They were the deep, dangerous green of the Killing Curse.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Look, I know there's always that cliche trope of Harry and his 'Avada Kedavra green eyes and blah, blah, blah *dramatic music*' ****_but_****, I really could help myself.**

**When I set out to write this fanfiction, I promised myself I wouldn't fall into any of the boring and overused cliches, and I swear this'll be the last time! (Okay, I probably can't actually keep that promise, but I definitely will swear to do my best.)**

**Thanks for reading, guys and I'll see you next week.**

**Cheers.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N:**

**Thanks so much to .Addiction.1738 and a Guest reviewer for their praises!**

* * *

"Mr Potter," Madame Marchbanks said. "As part of the custodial hearing, you are permitted to add one last word. Tell me, who would you rather as your guardian?"

Harry looked at each of the people.

There was Cyrus Greengrass, an okay-fellow who smiled at Harry and was lavishly dressed in his hand-made robes of Acromantula silk.

Beside him stood Belvina Black, sharp cheekbones, and sharper attitude.

Looking very austere, Augusta Longbottom gave a curt nod, her stuffed vulture hat making her look a bit of an... idiot.

Smiling radiantly, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of a magical school looked down on Harry, yellow-and-blue robes clashing against the somber atmosphere.

And separating himself from them all, standing aside, and meeting Harry's eyes with a calm sort of certainty, Lucius Malfoy gave a jut of a chin, barely a nod, before sinking back into a look of polite boredom.

If Harry had the choice, he was sorely tempted to part with Cygnus, who looked genial and was every as different from the Dursleys as one could possibly be.

Yet, that voice, the faceless smoke with the red eyes had already told him who to choose.

"_Malfoy, Harry. When the time comes, choose Malfoy."_

He didn't have to be told a second time.

"I... I choose Malfoy," Harry said, doing his best not to make his voice waver. "Madame, if -"

"_Repeat this," _the voice hissed. "_I would be beyond honoured to have Lord Malfoy as a father."_

"I - I would be beyond honoured to have Lord - Lord Malfoy as a... as a father."

Harry quivered on his frail legs. They were weak, from the fall, and from being bed-ridden for a long, long time.

Only a week ago, had he woken up, and only two days ago, did he start trying to walk again.

Only, he couldn't really walk. His muscles had atrophied so badly that they had to regrow, and then he had to relearn how to walk. It was a frustrating process.

"Thank you, Mr Potter," Madame Marchbanks said. "Your request shall be taken into consideration. We shall have a ten minute recess, in order for the jury to decide."

She banged her gavel twice, and the people in purplish robes left the room.

He hobbled over to the bench, leaning heavily on his cane. No one came to help him.

"Did I do alright?" Harry said worriedly. He could almost feel the creeping heat of the flames, commanding his will and hungry for flesh.

"_It could have been better."_

He felt something on his hands, and closed his eyes, already knowing what would happen.

Heat rose from his palms, feeling warm at first, a comfort and temporary distraction from the cold courtroom. But it got hotter, slowly at first, but suddenly sparking, and Harry felt _pain_, _pain_ that hurt so bad.

"_Don't stutter next time."_

And then the pain was gone, and Harry wiped the last of his tears as the members of the Wizengamot sat back down.

"The jury have spoken," said Madame Marchbanks. "Harry Potter today shall become an adoptee of the house Malfoy, with partial visitation rights to the house of Black. Today's case is adjourned."

She banged her gavel twice, and Harry felt a most peculiar feeling of happiness.

But it wasn't from him.

It was from the demon inside his mind, cheering and laughing, for the first part of his plan had been complete.

"There are a few more forms I must sign, but from this day on, you shall be known as Hydrus Malfoy. Come along, now."

The manor was unlike anything Harry - no, _Hydrus_, had ever seen.

Peacocks, as great as a large dog mulled about behind fences, vivid blue-and-green plumage absorbing sunlight, as well as attention.

Behind them stood a great white manor, perfect and polished with French-styled windows and dark roofs. The gate leading to all of that had been five times as tall as Hydrus, and could fit ten people, all walking side-by-side.

They were boarded by tall green bushes, trimmed to geometric perfection, lining the cobbled path.

It made for a unique sight.

"Quit gawking," Lucius Malfoy said. "We're already late for supper, and you're dressed as distastefully as a muggle."

Hydrus had heard the word _muggle _thrown around before, always said with great disliking. He wondered what could possibly be so revolting.

His clothes were made of a thick, scratchy material, black and three sizes too large. They were cinched at the waist with a length of cord, and billowed down at his feet.

Robes, the Headmaster of Hogwarts had told him.

It made Hydrus think of bright, fluffy and pink apparel, Aunt Petunia used when she finished her showers.

But then he remembered that Aunt Petunia was dead. Along with Uncle Vernon and Dudley.

Abruptly, the laugh had lodged itself in his throat, and thick globulous tears had fallen from his eyes.

"Robes?" He said, desperately wiping his eyes. "What... why?"

"It is the standard uniform for all young witches and wizards attending Hogwarts, of course," Albus Dumbledore had said. "In fact, even I wear them."

Hydrus had looked at the starry dark blue ones he wore, and wondered just how messed up this culture was.

And because he was six, he said aloud, "You look stupid."

Any lesser man may have given the young boy a good hard beating for those words, but Albus Dumbledore had simply laughed and said, "Yes, my eccentric style is quite something, isn't it?"

Hydrus hadn't known what 'eccentric' meant, and he didn't know what it meant now.

Either way, in that moment, he decided he liked this Albus Dumbledore just a little bit.

"I assure you, young man," he continued, "that not all witches and wizards have such... distinct senses of fashion.

And there it was, that word.

_Witches and wizards._

"I'm a... a wizard?" Hydrus had whispered softly.

"Oh, yes," Albus Dumbledore had nodded. "And a very powerful one too."

"So I can do magic?"

"Yes, of course."

"Can I make flames appear in my hands?"

And even though Albus Dumbledore had only laughed and shook his head, Hydrus knew he was wrong to ask the question.

Heat seared his palms, and in the back of his mind, the ashy voice hissed, "_I__diot_".

Tears fell from his eyes, and the kind-hearted Albus Dumbledore must have thought it was because he couldn't make fire appear in his hands.

"But don't worry," he had added quickly. "With a wand, you'll be able to do so much more."

Hydrus had barely heard him, swimming in a sea of pain and burnt flesh, but managed a weak laugh that quickly turned into a strangled gasp.

Albus Dumbledore looked at him queerly, and suddenly, the pain was gone from his hands, and Hydrus could focus once more.

It was a moment before he continued to speak, and when he did, he regarded Hydrus carefully, as if he were a rabid creature. It hurt for some reason. It hurt much more than when Aunt Petunia would send filthy looks at him.

"Wands, I'm afraid will only be up for purchase at the age of eleven, the summer before you first year at Hogwarts. In the meantime, there are textbooks you are certainly welcome to read that may satisfy your curiosity."

"Okay," he had said shakily. "Okay."

Were his robes really that bad?

Hydrus did not think so.

It did give the appearance of wearing a dress, and he knew that if ever any of his classmates were to see him, the word _faggot_, would be added to their taunts.

If dressing better than a muggle meant proper trousers and a shirt, Hydrus would be very excited to change his attire.

Yet, Lucius Malfoy also wore the billowing robe, and a peculiar embroidered vest.

Yes, dressing unlike a muggle did unfortunately mean dressing like a girl.

"Er," said Hydrus. "Will that mean I'll have to wear... that?"

He gave a vague gesture to Lucius Malfoy's ensemble.

"Something of that sort, yes."

They reached the entrance, and on its own, the door opened, hinges proper oiled so there were no squeaks.

From somewhere in the vast place, a young boy, taller than Hydrus but still altogether small, rushed into the foyer.

"Daddy!" He said happily. "You're back!"

"Yes," Lucius Malfoy said. "I am. And I brought someone. Tell me, Draco, what are we to do when someone comes over?"

And immediately, the radiant smile flew from his face. He dipped his head in a graceful bow, and in a strangely mature voice he said, "Welcome to the Malfoy family manor, mister -"

"Malfoy," Hydrus said.

The look on his face was almost comical.

"This is Hydrus Malfoy, Draco. Or, more often known by his former name, _Harry Potter._" And at those two words, Draco's eyes went so wide, Hydrus thought they might fall out. "Questions may be saved for a later time. Right now is time for supper, and as you can see, he is not dressed as someone worthy of his social status. Run along, Draco, and give him one of your smaller robes to wear."

With graceful, elegant steps, his father swept past the two boys and waltzed through a pair of double doors. A smell... a scent something like a thousand butter cakes and ten thousand pot roasts wafted through the door.

Never had Hydrus been so excited to change into a pair of expensive bathrobes.

"So... you're really him, aren't you?" Draco said.

"Harry Potter, you mean?"

"You even have the scar, don't you..." And without waiting for an invitation, Draco brushed aside Hydrus' hair and let out a soft gasp. "Oh, Merlin, _you do_."

"Er, yes, I suppose I do."

"Oh, sorry. My father tells me not to gawk or fawn over people." Draco blushed a ruby red. "I suppose introductions are in order, then, mister Potter -"

"Malfoy," Hydrus said. "Your father adopted me, I think."

"We'll be brothers then? Wicked. Come on up to my room. I've got plenty of robes for you to choose from."

They scaled the carpeted stairs together, as Draco talked non-stop about the Wizarding World.

"I mean, I can't believe you never knew about magic before this. The great savior of the Wizarding World, why - why in Merlin's saggy balls would you be left ignorant of all of this?"

"I can't say I know," Hydrus said hesitantly, though a thought came to mind.

The flames from his hands...

Yes, he could understand why someone might want to keep him oblivious of the dangerous power he kept.

But he didn't dare share his thoughts with Draco.

The smoke in his mind would not let him escape unpunished.

"Here," Draco said, after a long rant about the Chudley Cannons, some sort of team in this sport called 'Quidditch' . "This is my room."

He threw open the doors, revealing a lavish interior, elegant and posh.

His robes were very much in that same style, a smooth, light fabric that rippled like water when Hydrus touched it.

"You look alright, I suppose," Draco said when Hydrus had attached the last button. "That hair of yours needs taming."

He raised his hand and felt the wild strands of hair that jutted as it pleased and danced to the tune of an invisible wind.

No, there would be no taming of a force of nature as wild as that.

"Well, this shall suffice. I don't suppose your _muggle_ guardians ever taught you proper etiquette while eating?"

"Sort of -"

"So it's a no. Come on, Ha - Hydrus. Just copy whatever I do."

It didn't sound very reassuring, but he felt a warm heat on his palms and knew he would have to do it to perfection if he wanted to leave the dining table unscathed.

The meal smelt better up close, a thousand thousand pot roasts and a hundred thousand fruity tarts.

There was a great slab of meat, drizzled in a buttery sauce and circled with cranberries. Another had asparagus wrapped in bacon.

And, at the centre of the table, stood a tray laden with tarts and cupcakes, smelling sweet and buttery.

It was perhaps the best meal Hydrus had ever tasted.

He went to bed that night with a great smile on his face, lying on the softest mattress he had ever felt.

"_Sleep tight, my little water snake," _the voice whispered. "_You have a terrible future ahead."_

And when Hydrus exhaled, his breath was foggy and grey.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Ten points to whoever can guess where 'Hydrus' came from.**

**See you guys next week!**

**Cheers.**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:**

**Ten points to Sakuragane San, from Ravenclaw House.**

**Yep - it's from the constellation Hydrus. **

**I thought it would work out well, since most FanFictions use Hadrian and since 'Draco' also comes from a constellation... very subtle of me, I know XD**

**Enjoy this week, guys.**

* * *

"You, young man," said Aldebaran Rowle, "you are the heir to the Potter fortune, not some filthy mudblood. For the love of Merlin, _raise your chin and sit with your back straight._"

Oh yes, etiquette lessons with Aldebaran were a delight.

He smelt like fine leather, wore fine silk and chose only the _finest_ things, which was why they sat in the old study of Abraxas Malfoy, perhaps the most well-known Malfoy in history.

It was a large, spacious area with a desk that they routinely ignored and a coffee table and fluffy armchair they routinely used. All of it was old and French-looking and smelt quite odd.

Hydrus didn't mind the smell, for it kept Aldebaran in a good mood, and that was all he needed to survive.

They started off their lessons with little, simple things - how to address all the different social statuses in the Wizarding World, what to do when greeting another wizard of High-Blood and just what to wear for what occasion.

Hydrus caught on quickly, for his past life had demanded so. He learnt the information categorically, absorbing everything as swiftly as a porous sponge, and by the third lesson, could identify every single crest of every single Noble house.

But one part he would always fail, and it would be the hardest one: _posture and grace_.

He had gotten used to hunching and hiding in corners. Apparently, wizards from the house of Malfoy were meant to stand tall and proud, showing no sign of weakness or any sort of doubt. They were to wear green-and-black robes made from Acromantula silk, gift soft white riding gloves to those they disliked and never hold their drinking cup with the left hand.

So many rules.

"Alas," Aldebaran sighed. "We shall move on. Has your mother been teaching you about Wizarding Culture?"

He meant 'mother' as in Narcissa, but sometimes, and Hydrus hated him for thinking of it, he thought of Aunt Petunia.

"Yes, sir," he said. "Every afternoon, right before supper."

"Good, good. Then surely, she must have told you about Marriage Contracts?"

It was good thing Hydrus had declined the offer to drink a cup of the the orange-flower tea Aldebaran always brought with him.

"I - what?"

"A good young lad like you must always say _pardon_, never this - 'what'. Will you remember that, Hydrus?"

"I - er, yes. But - _Marriage Contract_."

"It's every bit as nasty as it sounds, isn't it?" Aldebaran laughed. "They're normally arranged at birth, and your parents - I mean, your _biological _parents, I doubt they would have arranged one for you... seeing as they were _untraditional._ But of course, it's entirely possible -"

"But unlikely?"

"_Young lad_, you must _never_ interrupt the sentence of your elder," Aldebaran reprimanded sharply.

"Right," said Hydrus, who had received many empty threats during his childhood. "Of course."

Aldebaran gave him a second glance, as if sensing his thoughts, before continuing. "Now, as I was saying, it is possible to owl Gringotts and receive a response before the morrow, although whether your mother is willing to talk about this with you is entirely up to her..."

"Do you think my parents would have... you know, gotten this marriage thing done?"

"You mean betrothed you to a woman? No, as I said, and when you should have _listening_, I told you your biological parents were terribly untraditional. A shame. The Potter line could have been greater. But you'll make it great, when you reach your majority. Won't you?"

"Er, sure," said Hydrus, who was still trying to figure out what the word 'betrothed' meant.

"You will," said Aldebaran with certainty. "And my job through all of this is to make sure you commit not a single social faux-pas. Come on, dear boy, that's enough for today. By next week, I'd like for you to have all the witches and wizards born in this century from High-Blood to be written down and memorized."

And with a flick of his wand, Aldebaran opened the door.

They walked down the long hallway, and down a flight of stairs, all the while Hydrus wondered if the flames that haunted his dreams, if the fires as bright as a thousand stars - if that power could be used to do something as ordinary and common as opening a door.

"Here you are, Narcissa," Aldebaran said. "Baking crumpet again, are we? Ah, they're a delightful little bunch. Mind if I -?"

Narcissa acquiesced with grace, handing over the plate and smiling a perfect, winning simper.

They were oddly shaped, a most exotic colour between butter and brown, topped in what Hydrus knew was Maple Syrup.

They looked somewhat appetizing but tasted worse than sawdust, and every occupant in the room knew as much. But, as Aldebaran had told him an innumerable amount of times: as a guest, it was one's duty to slather in as many implicit compliments physically possible.

He took a bit and did a great job of masking his disliking, even taking a second one.

Hydrus thought it was a painful thing to watch.

"Well," Aldebaran said. "I really must go. Young Hydrus has been a most dedicated pupil, and your crumpets were marvelous. Good day to you all, Hydrus, Narcissa."

"Good bye. See him to the door, will you, Hydrus?"

He did, watching the man pull on supple leather boots and wave a final au dieu.

"Where's Draco?" he said after he ran back to the kitchen.

"Upstairs, top floor, doing Merlin knows what. Try not to burn done the manor while you're with him, will you, Hydrus?"

"Of course."

He used to say 'okay', but that was deemed too informal. Instead, it was this 'of course' thing that made him sound like an archduke from Germany or whatever.

But then again, in a way, he was royalty.

Hydrus found Draco in one of the empty guest bedrooms, with splotches of ink and bits of parchment haphazardly lain around. His hair, once platinum and gelled flat, was ruffled and filled with black dots and looked every bit as messy as Hydrus' was.

"What happened here?"

Draco looked up, and almost tiredly, showed his brother in all-but-blood the messy scrawls he had made.

"It's for a letter," he sighed. "To the house of Crabbe and Goyle."

"Isn't that for your barr - barri -"

"Barrister?" Said Draco. "Oh, it is. Except, these are meant to be for their youngest Scions, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle."

"What for?"

"They've been vassals to the house of Malfoy for over some six centuries over some sort of debt. Anywho, I've apparently got this obligation to check up on them or whatnot. It's a terrible pain in the rear. Oh well. What've you been doing?"

"I -" began Hydrus who had no idea what a vassal was. "I've been wondering. Are you... betrothed to anyone?"

"Yes, of course. Why?"

"Aldebaran said I might be as well."

"_You?_" Draco laughed. "Your mother was a mudblood, for Merlin's sake! She would never do something like that."

Hydrus didn't appreciate Draco calling his mother a mudblood but kept it to himself.

"Oh. He said he would send an owl over to Gringotts... I don't know. Who are you betrothed to?"

"Pansy Parkinson." Draco scrunched his face as if he had tasted something particularly foul. "She looks a bit of a pig, but mother says she'll grow prettier after puberty. And she's also a Parkinson, an unfortunate ally of the Malfoys. And a pure-blood. Not that you suck too bad for a half-blood."

Hydrus did not know what to say to that.

They ate a hearty meal at the family table, talking over mundane things.

That night, the smoke collected again in his mind.

But it did not torture, nor did it sneer.

It floated close to Hydrus' face, and blinked dark red eyes.

"_We have much more to do,_" it hissed. _"So much more. But for now, sleep, my water snake. Greatness awaits."___

__(O.O)__

When he woke, it was to the smell of buttery scones and kippers.

Standing not far from his bed, wearing a polished wash-cloth, a greyish creature shorter than Hydrus with large, floppy ears, held a plate laden with food.

"Young Hydrus' food, sir," he said in a high-pitched, squeaky voice. "Would you like marmalade to go with the toast?"

"What?" Hydrus yawned. "Oh, yes, thanks Dobby."

The elfish creature bowed low. "Hydrus is a kind wizard. His thanks are appreciated."

He disappeared with a _pop_, a sort of magical teleportation Lucius had explained (very impatiently, too), as disapparation. It involved disassembling every particle in a wizard's body, only to reassemble somewhere. The efficiency, Lucius had said imperiously, was decided on a wizard's concentration.

House elves, he had also added, could apparate inside normally un-apparateable buildings, including Malfoy manor.

Hydrus changed quickly, for today was Saturday, and while that normally meant lying in, it would mean a visit to the Blacks over at the family manor.

His finest robes of Acromantula silk were donned, though they didn't have the traditional Malfoy crest stitched in green. Narcissa had thought it for the best, so as to not continuously remind Belvina of the petition she had lost. (_"Even if I have every right to feel smug about it_," she had added. "_But do your best to act proper, will you, Hydrus?"_)

It was a little before morning tea-time when Hydrus floo'ed over to twelfth Grimmauld Place. Dusting off invisible flecks of soot and ash, he was met with Kreature, the Black's house elf.

He ran his beady eyes over Hydrus' ensemble, before stopping on his ludicrously messy hair.

"Master is waiting for you," he croaked. "In the sitting room. Hurry up."

He waddled awkwardly, heavily disbalanced from the tea towel wrapped haphazardly around his waist.

Hydrus had learned to not take his words, nor his actions to heart.

Belvina waited for him in a dress of red-and-blue, hair styled elaborately and jewelry dazzling.

For a moment, it almost made up for the wrinkles that marbled her face, as great and deep as the Black family secrets.

But, of course, no guest could ever say that (even if Hydrus desperately wanted to), so he nodded at his fourth or fifth aunt and said in a proud voice, "You look stunning this morning, Lady Black."

"Why, aren't you ever so good at uttering those rehearsed comments, Hydrus. Spare me the niceties. Today, I've got some very important things to tell you."

The last time Belvina had said those words, she had shown him her personal jewelry collection and told him, very fondly as well, that the day she died, all of it would become his possessions.

"Er, okay."

"Don't say that 'er', thing. My, my, what has that Rowle been teaching you? I've always known that they were a weaker branch in the Black family. Oh well, that's why you have me. No, that's not what I meant to tell you about, Hydrus. There's a person I want you to meet."

Those very words had also been said to him, many, many times.

"Alright," he said, trying to imagine who it would be this time. Maybe it would be Gwenog Jones, captain of the Holyhead Harpies, if he were lucky.

"Here, come on in, Andromeda."

There was the soft turning of a handle, and a woman, much prettier and in the prime of her adulthood, came through the doorway.

She had every bit of the Black-pureblood features; heavy cheekbones, sharp nose and sharper eyes, completed with a cascade of dark hair. But her clothes, no, they most certainly were not Acromantula silk. Even from afar, Hydrus couldn't see the distinct rippling, nor the shiny, almost surreal, sheen of the coveted silk.

But of course, he should have known.

She was Andromeda Tonks, eldest of the three Black sisters, blasted from the tree for marrying a filthy muggle. There would be no way, having been stripped from her hefty inheritance, that she could afford as lavish robes as Hydrus'.

"Madame," Hydrus was quick to say, unsure whether or not adding 'Tonks' would be a good idea. "Please, take my seat."

His legs trembled as he began to get up, but Belvina was quick to stop him.

"No, no, none of that." She swished her wand, and a cushioned armchair, quite like the one Hydrus and her sat on, appeared from thin air.

That was strange.

Aldebaran had always said to offer the worst choices to those below you, and yet, as she conjured a fine set of bone-China and a platter full of the best smelling scones Hydrus had ever smelt, it was difficult to believe that this woman here had once been blasted off the family tapestry.

"Here, Andromeda. Drink some of this."

It was some sort of tea, pale yellow, almost the colour of urine.

Even though the invitation had not been extended to Hydrus, he made sure to take a great gulp. The taste was quite pleasant, although though not helped from the sudden tension in the room.

"You've asked me to come here for business, not to speak to a seven-year-old child."

"He's not just any child, though," Belvina said. "A while back, you must have heard of the great scandal Albus Dumbledore faced?"

Andromeda pursed her lips as if tasting something sour. "Yes?"

"Well, here he is. Harry Potter."

Her reaction was much more guarded than what Hydrus usually experienced, and her eyes first met his own, and then slowly began an ascent up his face, past his eyebrows, and stopping on his forehead.

On the first day of his adoption, Narcissa had taken him to the best hairstylist in town to trim his long, stringy mane of hair, and let the bloody red scar be seen by everyone.

Andromeda stopped on the vermillion lightning bolt, and her eyes widened ever so slightly.

"He goes by Hydrus, now, as you must know. Hydrus Malfoy, although heir to the Black family."

"Your point being?" She bristled, looking more as if this entire arrangement were a waste of time, rather than jealous over the inheritance a meagre little boy would receive.

"I'm growing old, Andromeda, and one day, in the very near future, I will die. The last living Blacks are you and Narcissa, and I can't have the Malfoys hoarding the very last of our fortune. By making Hydrus my heir, I have ensured that all the family treasures will not be claimed by that house. Unfortunately, that Lucius Malfoy had the audacity to claim Hydrus as his own." Belvina harrumphed, and tossed her thin hair. "I need someone to act as his regent until he comes of age. Will you suffice?"

"Regent?" She said.

"Yes, regent," Belvina repeated impatiently. "The person that makes all the important decisions in place of an underage heir. Or do you not remember any of the lessons I taught you as a young girl?"

"I - I do, yes. It's... just a lot to take in."

Belvina nodded formally. "Accepting to be the regent of young Hydrus entails many things, but will, of course, include the honour of being reinstated into the Black family.

"Oh," Andromeda said. "And my husband?"

"I don't suppose there's anyway to convince you to separate?"

"No," she said resolutely.

"I supposed as much."

Hydrus did his best to look interested, but it was hard when the fluffy scones desperately needed to be eaten. More often than not not, his eyes wandered over to the table, and it would take an enormous amount of effort to tear them away.

"Come on, Hydrus," Belvina said sharply.

He raised his eyes and found the two women staring at him, one with irritation, another with sympathy.

"Right. Sorry. What?"

"The ritual between regent and heir must be done. Rise, Hydrus. And get moving."

Belvina led them to a room, polished and old, like all the other ones in the Black manor.

When she slit his hand with a silver dagger, Hydrus did not flinch and for that, she gave an approving nod.

"Hold hands," Belvina commanded.

Hydrus reached for Andromeda's hand. The blood had begun to seep from their wounds, sticky and red. It smelt of iron, nauseating and uncomfortable.

Andromeda gave him a reassuring smile.

And then Belvina began chanting in an unknown language. It sounded halfway between a prayer and a demonic prose, summoning demons from hell.

Ribbons of reddish light snaked from their hands, humming a scary tune.

"Do you, Andromeda Tonks nee Black swear to always act in the best interest of the house of Black in mind?"

"Yes," she said, wincing as a scarlet ribbon wrapped around her wrist. It flashed a silvery red. There was a brief scent of burned flesh, and then the light solidified, a swirl of red and silver, the insignia of the Black family stamped in Black.

"And do you, Hydrus Malfoy swear to heed the counsel of your regent and forever hold her in high regard?"

"Er - of course," he began, but when Belvina gave him a particularly nasty glare, he said hastily, "I do."

A sliver of the light detached, and Hydrus felt himself tense.

Would it burn him as it burned Andromeda?

He wanted to object, feeling his nightmares rise in his throat, a horrible feeling of panic and paranoia.

"I -"

Quick as a flash, the light roped around his wrist, and pain rushed up his arm. It didn't hurt as much as he thought it would, but the smell… it made him want to puke and collapse and… die.

He slammed his eyes shut, but when he did, bright red eyes, dark with fury stared at him, ashy and smokey.

"_Keep your eyes open," _it hissed.

And Hydrus did, because nothing was scarier than the bright flames that danced on his palms.

When he opened his eyes, he saw a strand of metal snaking along his left wrist, shiny and bright.

But when he looked closer, he saw that it wasn't truly a bracelet.

It was melded to his skin, burning with the dark fury of the Black house.

* * *

**A/N:**

**A lot of stuff happened in this chapter.**

**I was reading a bit about the Black family, and, ah, Belvina Black died back in the 1960's, so, y'know, let's pretend that never happened, shall we?**

**Thanks so much to everyone who took the time to read my story!**

**Twenty points to whoever can guess how many times I wrote 'Acromantula silk'. At least a hundred, must be.**

**See you guys next week.**

**Cheers.**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:**

**Enjoy this chapter, guys!**

* * *

"_I need you to write a letter,"_ the voice in the back of his head said.

It had been a week since he received the one-of-a-kind bracelet from the Blacks, and a day since they had found that Hydrus was betrothed to no one.

"Al-Alright," he stammered. His handwriting was a bit worse for wear.

"_Not by yourself, you dimwit. Get a self-writing quill, and a pot of the finest black ink. You'll need some wax and the stamp with the Malfoy insignia. Hurry."_

Hydrus pushed open the door to his room, and stuck his head slowly into the hallway.

It was dark outside, sometime near midnight. With luck, Lucius would be asleep and wouldn't hear his quick scampering.

There were plenty of bits of parchment that littered across the manor, but not many places where special quills could be found. Self-writing quills, especially, were frowned upon, and only really used in verbal reports.

But then an idea came to him suddenly, as he crept along the second floor, hardly daring a quick breath.

_Abraxas Malfoy's study_.

With slow, careful hands, Hydrus opened the well-oiled door, breathing in the sweet, orange-like fumes Aldebaran's tea sometimes left.

He looked behind, careful to make sure no one saw him, though, if they did, Hydrus was already done for. There would be no good trying to explain why he desperately needed a quill at such an hour.

Taking deep breaths, trying desperately to quell the sudden rise in adrenaline, his hands fumbled for the knobs of drawers, opening them one at a time, doing a slow deliberate search of its contents.

One of them contained an odd assortment of stamp, with everything from the Crabbe insignia to the long-dead family of the Selwyns. With a deep sigh of relief, Hydrus found the Malfoy stamp, and closed the drawer carefully, doing his absolute best to leave everything as it was, even though he knew almost no one but him and Aldebaran came to this desolate study.

On the right side of the desk, he found parchments of all different colours, and inking pots with different shades of purples, reds and blues. An especially nice silver one Hydrus took.

It would work nicely for his signature, if it really was a letter the voice wanted him to write.

The drawer underneath, he finally found an assortment of quills.

Some were majestic owl feathers of mottled brown and white, others were even more elegant peacock feathers that seemed to glow blue and green. There were some others in there, a long black one, perhaps from a raven, and a fluffy one, pearl white that shone in the moonlight.

A feather from a swan.

"_You incompetent fool_," the voice hissed, and pain suddenly flared in Hydrus' hands, making him immediately drop the feather.

Thankfully, feathers were light and produced no sound when it hit the floor.

Hydrus let loose a whimper, and bit his lip resolutely, fighting against the tears that swam in his eyes.

"_Self-writing quills are golden and white. Put that useless chicken feather back and hurry up."_

He did as he was told, and fumbled from a couple dozens of quills, before, at the very back, he found a feather of a marbled golden and white colour.

"_Now take some wax and a candle, and get going. Must I really talk you through every step?"_

Quickly he found those things, and slipped them into the pockets of his night robe.

When he began creeping up the first flight of stairs, almost appearing from thin air, Lucius Malfoy stared an impassive face at Hydrus.

"And what," he began with a bone-chilling voice, "are you doing, awake at _half past one,_ _in the morning_?"

"I was hungry," Hydrus said, a practiced liar after all those years at the Dursleys.

"So hungry that you forgot to call Dobby?"

"I - I didn't know he was awake during the nightimes…"

"Clearly, you have much to learn. Let us get you into bed, then, shall we?"

And he stared straight at Hydrus, and his gaze traveled down his torso and settled just above his pockets.

It was dark, and hopefully, it concealed the bulges in his clothes.

But when his eyes narrowed, Hydrus knew he was done for.

So instead he hurried up the stairs and Lucius followed him closely.

"Sleep," he commanded. And then blew out the candle.

Hydrus waited one minute, and then another, listening to his footsteps fade in the distance.

And then all at once, he lit a lantern and then whispered into the night, and said, "What should I do?"

"_Hold out the quill and dip it in the finest ink. And say exactly as I say."_

Hydrus did, and finished it with a flourish of his wrist, signing it in the silvery ink. For a moment, the words flashed red, and out of his mouth came a wisp of horrible smoke.

Hydrus felt a horrible sinking feeling in his guy, wondering just what the words on his paper would do.

"_Quit gawking, and get moving, will you?"_

He poured the wax onto the seal and stamped the seal of the Malfoy house.

With careful hands, he opened the latch and whispered in the dark of the night for the family owl.

It came to him, hooting angrily.

"Shush," said Hydrus. "I need you to give this to Cyrus Greengrass, can you?"

The owl was a dark and regal Eostrix, and gave a dutiful nod of his head. He took the envelope in his beak and flew off into the night.

He suddenly felt very exhausted.

It was two weeks later when a majestic horned owl flew in through the open window, perched onto the back of Narcissa's chair during breakfast and extended its right leg.

A letter, held in a yellowed envelope with perhaps the best penmanship Hydrus had ever seen was opened by his mother.

Her expression was unreadable, her poise perfectly kept all throughout. At the very end, she looked up, and her eyes found Hydrus, who was staring very resolutely at his kippers and eggs.

"Lord Cyrus Greengrass has proposed a betrothal contract between you and his eldest daughter."

"Oh," Hydrus said blankly.

"That's not _fair_," Draco protested. "Why does he get some blonde beauty, and I get some pug-faced _idiot?_"

"Hush, my dear Draco. Harry, Lord Greengrass has set aside exactly a hundred thousand galleons worth of family heirlooms as dowry, and requests to meet us in person to discuss further arrangements."

"Er, okay."

Narcissa gave him a warm smile. "Don't worry, I've met Daphne Greengrass a number of times. She's a nice young lady and very pretty -"

"Unlike Pansy," Draco muttered bitterly.

"- I'm sure you'll like her."

Hydrus did his best to appear shocked. "Do things like this come in the mail all the time?"

"Most marriage and betrothal contracts are made at birth, and usually only between allied families. Although, when word reached many of the older pureblood families that you were now a Malfoy, well…"

"You had offers from the Perks family, and even the house of Bulstrode. You ought to be thankful mother didn't accept that one. Their eldest daughter - what's her name? Millicent? Yes, she's a sight for sore eyes even compared to -"

"I don't recall sharing any of this with you," Narcissa said coldly.

"Oh, you didn't," Draco agreed.

"Which makes me wonder how you found out."

"Just ask father."

And when Narcissa turned away with a huff, Draco winked at Hydrus and they both laughed into their goblets of pumpkin juice.

"I'll send them back an owl, saying you'll be available to speak… oh, I don't know, in three days from now?"

"Alright," said Hydrus, who wondered if this Daphne Greengrass was as pretty as Draco professed. "May I be dismissed from breakfast?"

"Well, go ahead," said Narcissa. "No, not you, Draco. Stay here and finish your toast."

Hydrus scampered away from the dining table, wondering just what it was that the Greengrass family had that no other didn't.

Draco rejoined him on the top floor, on the balcony of the sixth bedroom to the right, cursing his mother for betrothing him to some pig. The wind blew and blew, brushing cold, frigid air on both of them. They had made it a contest to see who could last out here for the longest.

"I mean, she's absolutely _disgusting _to look at! Ratty brown hair, slanted eyes and this _gigantic _nose. Oh, you are so lucky, Hydrus, especially since the Greengrasses aren't usually one for making such contracts. But then again," and a note of distinct fascination entered his voice, "you're the Boy-Who-Lived, so… any family would want you as a son-in-law. Can't blame them, honestly."

"Er, yes. Listen, Draco, I needed to ask you something."

"Go on."

"What's so special about the Greengrass family?"

"Well, they're part of the Sacred twenty-eight."

"But so are another twenty-seven families."

"Well, yes, but around half of them don't have any children."

"That still leaves thirteen other families."

"That, and a lot of some other families' political ideologies don't line up with ours."

"But the Greengrasses do?"

"Well, no, not really. They're more of a neutral house, come to think of it. But they've probably agreed to marry their eldest daughter to you because of your status."

"I suppose," Hydrus said. In the back of his head, the voice cackled a dark, merry tune.

"_It's much simpler than you think, my incompetent water snake. So much simpler."_

And this time, a feeling of warmth spread through his body, and Hydrus knew at once that it was from the flames.

He tensed, but to his surprise, no burning flames molested his flesh.

"Well, come on." Draco made for the door. "By courtesy, you're supposed to write a letter to your future betrothed, introducing yourself and just generally saying how enamoured your are by her beauty."

When it came time to meet the Greengrasses, Draco, Aldebaran and Narcissa had ensured that Hydrus knew every little bit of the required etiquette, including when into their courting that they should have their first kiss. It made for an awkward series of conversations.

On a Thursday afternoon, at around tea time, there was a knock on the door.

"Go on, Hydrus," Lucius said. "Open the door."

His palms felt a little sweaty as he opened it.

His worries, though, were soon quelled when he saw the family of four, all smiling genially (except for the girl in blonde hair, who looked about Hydrus' age).

They were dressed in fine dress robes, that rippled like water and shined in the sunlight.

"Lady Greengrass," Hydrus said. "Lord Greengrass. Scion Astoria and - heiress Daphne. You all look marvelous. Please, come in."

Daphne glared devious blue eyes at Hydrus all the while.

Draco gave him a fleeting grin.

By tradition, the family of the bride was to stay until after supper, and sip on whatever drink was in season until late into the evening.

But before that, they would all gather in the sitting room, decorated with the colours of the two houses (to show union, of course), and discuss matters regarding courtship (which Hydrus was most definitely looking forward to). Any other siblings were to head down into the kitchen and work with the elves to plan an elaborate set up for the meal.

Yes, wizards and their traditions were especially exciting.

They settled into the plush velvet armchairs, the family of the groom sitting on the right side, the family of the bride sitting on the left.

Daphne Greengrass continued to glare at him.

"We have an engagement ring," said Narcissa, "worn once by Rhodope Malfoy. It was a beautifully cut aquamarine. Goblin made, I believe. I think it shall go delightfully well with Daphne's eyes."

"And we have a beautiful silver tiara," Laurel Greengrass added. "Goblin made as well."

They spoke of boring logistics, and then, laughed and agreed that Daphne and Hydrus were still mere babies, and that such things were best left undecided for now.

Though, they agreed, through a couple glasses of high-priced champagne, that there would be an exit clause, of a sum of approximately a million galleons. Which was even a significant amount to the Malfoy family.

The marriage would, as most pureblood marriages did, take place when both reached their magical majority, or the age of seventeen.

"Come on," Lucius said. "Let us have supper and celebrate the future union of our beloved son and daughter. Come on into the dining room. I'm sure Draco and Astoria have done a wonderful job."

All throughout the meal, Daphne glared at Hydrus, and when the dessert was served, he winked back at his future wife and ladled a great deal of vanilla ice cream onto his spoon.

"Enough for the two of us," he whispered.

Draco nodded approvingly, and Daphne cracked the barest hint of a smile.

When they drank eggnog (for it was almost December), his future betrothed sat beside him and even shared with him the family recipe for a particular Christmas-time Butterbeer.

"We'll keep in touch through owls until we reach Hogwarts, won't we?" Hydrus said somewhat uncertainly.

"I hope so," and Daphne gave him a smile.

All in all, not too bad.

"_You did well, my water snake."_

And that warmth was felt though him again.

Feeling somewhat content, Hydrus fell asleep.

December rolled in with much grace and speed, and Narcissa brought Hydrus and Draco to get brand new dress robes, tailored to their exact size.

They were fine and silky and what they wore to the annual Black family dinner.

It was held not in Grimmauld Place, but in another Black manor, far out in the countryside, where the peaks of greyish mountains could be seen in the distance, and the faraway hoops of a Quidditch field could be discerned.

The snow fell thick and heavy when they arrived, blanketing the grass and shimmering pale blue in the afternoon sun.

Inside, however, was much of a different story.

There were peals of laughter and shouts, as wizards of all ages bustled about the house.

Every upstanding pureblood witch or wizard was present; the Crabbes, the Goyles, the Parkinsons (Draco had sniffed loudly at that), the Flints, the Averys, the Notts, and, Hydrus felt his heart leap to his throat with anxiety, there were the Greengrasses.

For a long while, they gathered in the sitting room, some sixty, seventy different occupants, exchanging insults or overly-sugared compliments.

"This is boring," Hydrus said loudly, as the Flints and the Averys began boasting about which line went back further.

"It is," sighed Draco, who had begun to pick apart the golden meringues. "I wish mother would have let me bring in a couple dungbombs to throw around."

"Dung bombs?" said Astoria loudly, a bit too loudly, even. A couple heads turned in her direction, and she flushed a cherry red, matching the deep magenta of her ensemble. "I'm sure they have something. Or brooms, even. Did you guys see the Quidditch pitch outside?"

"Of course," scoffed Draco. "Do you reckon we'll be able to sneak out of here?"

"I'm sure there's a way." And walking towards them, with the natural-born grace of a pureblood, Theordore Nott waltzed over, a platter of custards in his hands. "This is an old manor," he continued, "and there must have been emergency escapes in case anything were to happen. We'll just have to find where."

"It must be deep in the crypts," Hydrus said, thinking of an underground passage.

"Do you think they bury their dead there?" Astoria shivered.

"Scared of a little bodies?" Draco smirked.

"You wish," she said bravely. "I'll go get Daphne. Why don't you go ask your lovely betrothed to join us?"

"Absolutely not."

"Scared, Malfoy?" Nott smirked.

"More terrified."

"Really?" said Astoria.

"It's her face."

And at that, they all had a hearty laugh.

They slipped out the door with ease; a new loud debate having started. Outside, the fluttering of snow had stopped, and a silence quite unlike the inside of the manor descended over them.

The group left great and big footsteps behind, wrapped in heavy cloaks.

"Up there," Draco said. "There's a broomshed, I think."

The brownish shack came into focus a couple yards later, covered in bluish snow and barely standing.

And just like that, Hydrus felt something twitch inside his head.

The red eyes blinked open, and for one terrifying moment, he braced himself, waiting for the excruciating pain of the flames, waiting for them to overcome his body with their bits and scratches.

But no, instead, he felt a weird feeling of… losing himself, almost.

As if a part of himself had been lost this entire time.

"Oh, look at that," Astoria shrieked, and for a moment, Hydrus thought his eyes had turned red. "There are more than enough broomsticks for all of us!"

"And, there's a necklace," Daphne said.

Her hands reached to dig it out from the ground.

It was silver, shining and glowing, almost as if imbued with magical powers. Of course, this was the Wizarding World, so the idea sounded much less ludicrous than it actually was.

Engraved on the pendant was a green S.

And the more Hydrus came forward, the more he desperately wanted to hold onto the thing.

He took a step, and then another, and it took all of his will power not to take a great leap and snatch the thing from Daphne's hands.

"Can I see it?" he said. "The necklace, Daphne. Could you give it to me?"

"Claiming jewelry already, are we, Hydrus?" Nott taunted.

Hydrus ignored him, and felt a strange sense of inhuman euphoria wrap around his insides. And then something happened.

Laughter, thick with twisted joy he never thought he could feel built up inside his throat, and almost madly, Hydrus Malfoy stood on the wooden floor of the shack, and threw his head backwards, letting loose a stream of delirious giggles. 

__(O.O)__

When the brothers in-all-but blood turned eight, they were brought to a newly furnished room inside Malfoy manor, where a tall wizard in clean (but not made from Acromantula silk) robes that bore the crest of the house Fenwick.

He stood beside a thick collection of tightly bound texts, and immediately, Hydrus knew what was happening.

"I, am Nancel Fenwick. Your father," he began in a stout voice, "has asked me to teach the two of you the basics of arithmancy and latin, along with some of the more common wizarding studies, such as the theory behind charms and transfiguration. We shall meet thrice a week, with assigned homework that I expect both of you to complete. Please, Hydrus, Draco. Take a seat."

They sat on the chairs, not plump and lush velvet ones that sagged under their weight, but hard and wooden. Equally plain desks lay in front of them.

Hydrus had only one tutor in the past, and they had taken their lessons across a pot of high-quality tea.

Standard quills lay in front of them, no more different than the boring barn owl ones, with regular black ink in simple ceramic pots.

"Er, with all due respect sir -"

"Did you raise your hand, Mr Draco? Did I allow you to speak? No, I don't think so. There is a certain amount of respect that must be cultured and grown from a young child that I see your parents have failed to do. Well alright. Allow me to be clear to you. A scholar leads a busy life, and I have very little time to spare in my life. What little I give over to you young boys, and I expect to be treated with respect and courtesy I deserve."

Hydrus, quite frankly, thought this man was laying it on a bit thick.

Draco had the decency to blush bright red, all the way to the tips of his ears. Slowly, he raised his hand.

"Yes, Draco. I give you parole."

"I - I'd like to apologise," he mumbled. "You were right, sir. My words were unthoughtful and I spoke without regard to my superiors. Please, accept my apologies."

Nancel gave him a curt nod.

"I shall let it slide this once."

And then, at once, they began on the topic of arithmancy.

One lesson turned into two, then three, then four, until, finally, Hydrus could recite all his times tables, up to a hundred and compose compelling ballads in Latin that brought tears to Daphne's eyes.

And then once they had finished mastering the fine arts of three-digit mental multiplication and the elegant beauty of essar-writing, the young scions of Malfoy house learnt the basics of Herbology, Potions, Charms and Transfiguration, until they could recite the textbook cover-to-cover.

In the four years that passed, ever since that fateful trip to the Blacks cottage in English countryside, never once did Hydrus feel a twitch in his palms, never once did he feel a burn race down his chest.

In fact, all of the thrashing and crying and begging he would do as a young boy felt almost part of another life. Another life, where dark red eyes would stare at him in his sleep, where misted faces would set devious flames against his body.

All of it was naught, but a bad, bad dream.

But it was still there, of course. The twisted grey face, the horrible flaming eyes.

It had only needed to be triggered.

* * *

**A/N:**

**The next chapter, we'll be jumping to when they're eleven-year-olds, and their magical journey at Hogwarts shall commence!**

**:)**

**Thank you so much to everyone who has taken the time to read this story, and see all of you next week!**

**Cheers.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N:**

**Enjoy this week, guys.**

* * *

" 'Three sets of plain robes," Draco read aloud. "Oh, that's _boring_. Do you reckon mother will let me get some coloured robes for the weekends?"

"Well, it's either that or we'll just send in owl-order forms when we get to Hogwarts."

Even saying the name made Hydrus' insides flutter with excitement.

Draco harrumphed, looking very stylish that day with a new pair of high-quality dragon-leather boots. It was a birthday gift from Belvina, who had spent many hours ranting about the Malfoys to Hydrus.

"Well," he said, "I'm definitely not getting a toad; those are disgusting. I think an owl should work nicely. What about you, Hydrus?"

"Yeah. A snowy white one."

"To match my hair?"

"Not yours, you arrogant pillock. It's to match father's."

"What? So it's going to be one of those long haired owls with hair so long it can't even take off?"

They burst into laughter together, feeling the thrill of Diagon Alley rush through their veins.

The young boys walked along the busy streets, a light breeze flapping through their robes. It was a hot, summer-y day, and Draco's birthday to boot.

Also an extremely good thing their parents let them be, for they would have taken a great berating for having mocked their father.

Together, they made their way from shop to shop, tipping an extra galleon everywhere they went, buying the most expensive options, and so caught up in their euphoria and glory that they didn't see the man in the purple turban following them.

"Look, mother," Draco announced when they finally found her over at the Leaky Cauldron. "I got an owl."

It hooted gently, sounding almost musical and angelic as it peered its delicate eyes at Narcissa.

"It's a lovely specimen," said Lucius, who sent a quick glance at the creature, but then continued to gaze above their heads.

Hydrus followed his eyes, skirting over the tops of everyone else's features, past a group of wizards who shared large glasses of Butterbeer, to a lone man, sitting at a table.

He looked down at his book, but when Hydrus looked over at Lucius, he could have sworn he saw his eyes narrow even more.

"Who's that?"

"Quirinus Quirrell," said Lucius at last. "Your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Hydrus wondered why his father insisted on staring at Quirrell for the rest of their time there.

That night, as the stars glittered in the sky and all the inhabitants of the manor were asleep, Hydrus crept up another two flights of stairs to the very top floor of the building. In the sixth room to the right, he pushed back the double doors, and uncovered the basket hed prepared earlier that day.

There were Draco's favourite sandwiches and tarts, two goblets of Butterbeer and finally, a single cupcake, chocolate with a swirl of cream cheese frosting on top.

It had taken Hydrus two hours to finally get the damned thing right, but not before Dobby had begged to do the task himself.

At half past one, when the distant hooting of an owl could be heard, Draco slowly pushed open the door, and a tuft of ragged blonde hair could be seen.

"Come on in," Hydrus whispered. He lifted the cupcake to his eyes and beckoned him over.

Slowly, a soft smile spread over Draco's lips, sweet like honey and pleasant as warm butter. He crept over and took a seat on the balcony.

Their feet dangled over the edge, white silk pajamas glowing in the moonlight. It was early summer, warm with a cooling breeze.

"You got me a cupcake," Draco laughed.

They had eaten the traditional birthday cake hours past, but only now did it seem official.

A candle had been lit, adding some more light to the darkness around them.

Hydrus had even ordered a muggle lighter for all of this, feeling oddly giddy as he had switched the thing on and off, wondering just how much damage he could do.

And slowly, in the near-darkness of the night, Hydrus sung Happy Birthday for Draco, his voice mild and soft, almost swept away by the wind.

"Make a wish, birthday boy."

"But I already made one."

"So make another. Come on, I think the wax is starting to melt."

Quickly, his brother closed his eyes and his lips moved in a quick prayer. With just as much speed, the candle was blown out.

They split the cupcake there and then, and ate the pastries and the sandwiches, washing all of it down with the Butterbeer.

For a moment, the young boys looked out in the distance, seeing nothing but the deep, dark starry sky. And then Draco spoke.

"Thank you."

"Anytime," Hydrus shrugged. "So long as you do this for me one day."

"I will."

"Don't forget."

And then they looked at each other, and Draco brushed away the fringes of Hydrus' hair. It revealed the dark red line, jagged and still bloody, foretelling the life of another boy.

"July thirtieth," Draco whispered. "The birthday of the Boy-Who-Lived. No, I don't think I'll forget."

His fingers lingered there for a moment, but as quick as they came, they left.

Daphne Greengrass only ever blossomed in beauty.

Her hair grew wavy and long, light blonde and thick. Her eyes deepened in colour, a certain sort of complexity brimming in those pools of wonder.

And it seemed, for every little pretty thing that Daphne had, Pansy Parkinson, named after a blooming field of flowers, grew more and more plain, until Draco had told Hydrus that she looked almost akin to a filthy mudblood.

But nonetheless, as per tradition, they had to at least pretend to tolerate each other.

When finally, finally two more excruciating months had passed, Hydrus turned eleven on a bright, exuberant day.

Plenty of people showed up to his birthday party, some family, others friends, and more often than not, some politicians, hoping desperately to earn the favour of the Boy-Who-Lived.

Daphne Greengrass was there, and stayed by his side all throughout, but all of it paled when compared to the special 'Birthday Sundae' Draco made, that they shared up on the balcony in the early hours of the morning.

They fell asleep there, lying on each other's shoulders, and gave Narcissa the worst panic attack when Dobby found them there the next morning.

After the most boring lecture, they left for Diagon Alley.

"Eleven inches," Hydrus said, shifting the stick in his hands. "Holly and phoenix feather."

When he swished his wand, red sparks flew from his wand, angry and savage.

A memory tugged at his mind.

"Oh look," Draco said as they walked through the Leaky Cauldron. "There's that Quirrell you told me about."

Hydrus looked over, and saw the purple turban.

And almost as if Quirrell had sense their eyes, his head swiveled around and gave them a great, big smile.

"Why, c-c-c-an it b-b-b-b-e? The great B-B-B-B-oy-Who-L-L-L-ived right in f-f-f-f-ront of m-m-m-m-y eyes?"

"Er -"

And then it happened again, that feeling of something… pulling on his insides, begging him to _take a fucking step forward._

His legs seemed to move on his own, the world almost dulled and muted as he walked over to Quirrell.

Somewhere deep, dark inside his mind, a voice whispered, beckoning Hydrus to come forward.

_More forward, _it chanted. _More, more, more._

Until he got so close, that they stood almost toe-to-toe.

And as Draco roared with laughter, Hydrus felt as if some part of him, for all of his life, had been stuck inside the man.

"You feel familiar," he told him, with a strange, unusual wave of yearning in his voice. "I think I know you."

"R-r-r-r-eally?" Quirrell said, and gave everyone there a shaky smile. "Everyone, the B-B-B-B-oy-Who-L-L-L-ives knows of m-m-m-y achievements. Nothing h-h-h-as ever made m-m-m-e happier."

All around the pub, people gave appraising smiles.

"Do you know me?" Someone else squeaked. He was a man, short and portly, wearing a bowler hat and a clean, but worn pair of robes. "I'm Deadulus Diggle. I met you once as a babe!"

"Probably one of Dumbledore's old coots," said Draco, just barely loud enough for Hydrus to hear. "Let's get going."

It took him three tugs, and even then, Hydrus put up a great struggle.

"What was that for?" He demanded hotly.

"He's one of Dumbledore's people," said Draco. "Let's go."

They found Narcissa and Lucius and floo'ed back to the manor.

That night, as Hydrus drifted off to sleep, the red eyes blinked open once more.

And suddenly, he knew where he had seen the red sparks before.

They were from the eyes, brimming with anger and vengeance.

When it came time to board the Hogwarts express, Narcissa shed a tear, and then two, Lucius gave them a firm pat on the back and Belvina nodded stiffly.

And then they piled their trunks in an empty compartment, waiting for the train to begin.

There were no nervous discussions about what house the young boys would belong to; both knew very well that Slytherin, with their cool underwater dorms and green lanterns were the only was to go.

"D'you think Dumbledore will truly try to rope me into all of the 'Boy-Who-Lived' stuff?"

"Of course not," Draco scoffed. He was feeding his owl, affectionately named Greyclaw, some cheese, trying to see if birds ate dairy products.

"Well, Daphne and Pansy will be here in a moment, so, look fresh, Draco."

He grimaced, and waved his wand lazily, as a rush of greenish sparks (that really did nothing) burst from his wand.

Silence reigned for some time, broken only by the muffled hooting from the owls.

Hydrus stared out the compartment windows, watching the people milling in the crowd, and slowly, quietly at first, he heard the deep, hissing voice.

"_The Stone_."

"What stone?" Hydrus whispered.

"Did you say something?" Draco turned his head.

"There's -"

And suddenly, pain shot through him, and Hydrus felt his hands go aflame.

"_SHUT UP."_

He stopped, and looked down, blinking away tears. The pain, oh, _Merlin_, the sensation of having the knives dig into his flesh… where - where had that come from?

"Are you okay?"

Before he knew what was happening, Draco was beside him, staring into his eyes and tilting his chin upwards.

"Yeah," Hydrus managed. "I'm fine."

For a moment, all he could feel was his heart, pounding and pounding, pounding so hard he thought it might break his rib cage all in one.

It could have lasted forever, but at that very moment, squealing through the doorway, Pansy Parkinson screeched a very loud, and very embarrassing, "_DRACO!"_

Immediately the two boys jerked away.

"Pansy," said Draco indifferently.

"I missed you," she declared. "And you, Hydrus. It's good to see you both."

"Of course," said Draco, "but keep your voice down."

"Hmph. I hardly see why that should keep me away from my _betrothed_."

As she said those words, Pansy raised her left hand, and shining like a great silvery goose egg, sat the greatest Aquamarine that the young girl could possibly support with her meagre finger.

Draco gave Hydrus a look, and together, they smirked.

Minutes later, Daphne Greengrass came in, hair pulled back with an elegant twist, smile graceful and mannerisms perfect.

"Morning all," she said happily.

Pansy had sniffed, and for the next five minutes, did her absolute best to sit with perfect posture and smile as graceful as a swan.

Thankfully, Theodore Nott came in before any of that could end up being too traumatizing. Him and his trunk, both olive-toned and wispy, swept into the room, and gave Pansy a look.

"Did something happen when I was away?" He asked.

"Daphne came in," Draco said, and Pansy left the room with a look of fury sent to her supposed 'betrothed'.

"She's taking it a bit too far, I think," Daphne noted indifferently. From the base of her neck, a chain of carefully cut diamonds twinkled in the harsh lighting. They were a special gift from Hydrus, to mark their betrothal. It came with a matching ring, subtle and elegant (unlike the great monstrosity Pansy had insisted on wearing). "Are all the students in our year truly going to be this dull?"

"Not in Slytherin, at least," said Hydrus confidently.

"Except for my family's vassals," Draco sighed. This elicited a laugh from everyone in the compartment.

"Speaking of which," said Theodore, "where are they?"

"Late," he shrugged. "I don't care. Anyway, do we all remember the pureblood wizards in our year?"

"You sound like some teacher's pet," Theodore smirked. "Next thing you know, you'll be bragging about all the extra things you learnt, and how _fascinating_ astronomy is, especially since you were named after a constellation -"

"Shut up," said Draco hotly. "There's to be Susan Bones, Neville Longbottom, that Weasel, Lavender Brown, the Paravati twins, and… I can't seem to think of anything else…"

"You're forgetting Bulstrode," Daphne said raptly. "And Ernie Macmillion."

"You know, Greengrass," Theodore said, "I think, for a moment there, I thought you too, were doing your homework."

As Daphne pulled out her wand, and as Hydrus gave a great sigh, the train gave a lurch, and they were speeding down the tracks.

Thankfully, it sent everyone who had been standing to the ground.

Theodore fell on his rear end and Hydrus' betrothed stumbled a little. Both somehow managed to look graceful while doing so.

Luckily, all notions of sending dangerous-looking but harmless sparks at each other was quickly quelled. They settled into a sort of peace and quiet, punctuated only when Pansy made a great entrance, and wedged herself between Hydrus and Draco, almost sitting directly on both of their laps.

"_What the hell_," they had both hissed in unison.

Daphne had let out a giggle, and Theodore shook his head. But after that, no one said another word for a long, long time.

The silence allowed Hydrus to think back to those pair of red eyes, who haunted him with no end, who made great flames appear in his palms, and who whispered words into his ears.

He had hissed something about a great stone, and Hydrus felt terribly foolish to consider the words of a voice he had never seen, but his mind raced through a list of notable rocks through history and could find nothing of significance.

For hours and hours, the train raced through British countryside, surrounded by rolling hills of green or puffs of tall grass that teemed with little insects.

Interruptions were scarce, once as a prefect came to check-in on them, and then twice as a bushy-haired girl with buck teeth and a lurid smile came bursting into their compartment.

"Hello there," she said loudly. "I'm looking for a toad. Has anyone seen a -"

"No, goodbye," Pansy said louder.

"Oh," the girl said, looking crestfallen. "Well, I see that you don't have any badges on your robes. Are you also in your first year? You know, when I first heard about Hogwarts I thought -"

"It's a wonderful institution, yes," Daphne said politely, "but we're all feeling rather tired as it is. Perhaps you could come back later?"

"Of course," the girl said. "I'm Hermione, by the way. Hermione Granger -"

"Are you related to Hector Dagworth-Granger?" Draco spoke up eagerly.

All around the cabin, groans could be heard.

"No, sorry. Who is he?"

"Are you a mud -" Hydrus gave him a great nudge, "- a muggle-born?"

"Yes! Are you? You know, I was so worried I would be the only one of these muggle-borns to attend Hogwarts, and just the concept is so infuriating to know that other children get to practice magic _ages_ before we could -"

"_We_?"

Never had Draco sounded so affronted in the time that Hydrus met him.

"Oh, no. I just thought you were a muggle-born too. Um, well, sorry. I'll be gone."

She ran from their compartment, the doors slamming shut behind her.

"Good riddance," said Theodore. "Looks like a Ravenclaw to me. Goodness, I better not be in that house."

"Don't worry," said Hydrus. "You'll be in Hufflepuff."

* * *

**A/N:**

**Our dear hero seems to be developing quite the savage mouth.**

**Thanks to everyone who took the time to read this story, and as always, see you next week!**

**Cheers.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:**

**Enjoy this week, guys!**

* * *

The Great Hall was every bit as great as Narcissa had described it.

The floors were polished, the long tables for each house filled to the brim with students, and candles, long and glimmering, floated just under the ceiling.

"You know," said the same high-pitched ridiculous voice Hydrus heard back on the train. "I read in _Hogwarts: A History_, that the ceiling was charmed to be transparent. I mean, _look at it_, if I hadn't known there was a charm applied, I would've thought the ceiling to be made of glass. Oh, there are so many different applications for magic. Did you know that the portraits talk and move, and that the staircases do the same? I mean, no _obviously_, the stairs don't talk, but they move, and whenever they want. Do you think I'll ever get lost in the castle? I can't bear the thought of being late to class at any time. Can you?"

And when Granger quit talking, Hydrus breathed a great sigh of relief, which turned quickly into a groan, when he realized that _she had been talking to him_.

"Er, yes?" He said.

Draco and Theodore sniggered loudly.

So did a red-headed boy, who wore robes that looked patched and frayed. On his shoulder sat a weaseling rat, who flicked its whiskers every so often.

"He doesn't want to listen to your rambling, Granger," the boy with red hair said. "Do us all a favour and shut up."

Hydrus wanted to thank the boy, and had opened his mouth to do so, until he realized that the boy with red hair and second hand robes… he was a _Weasley._

Quickly, he closed his mouth and stood at rapt attention, listening to the Sorting Hat sing a tune about the four houses.

The tall and severe-looking Professor McGonagall unraveled a scroll that was frayed and yellowed at the ends. In a strong voice, she called:

"Abbott, Hannah."

A young girl with brown hair and quivering legs walked over to the stool and put on the hat. It was great and black, with heavy folds marking two eyes and a great big mouth that called "_HUFFLEPUFF_" after two minutes.

He watched as Millicent Bulstrode went to Slytherin, Neville Longbottom went to Gryffindor, Lavender Brown went to Hufflepuff, _somehow _the annoying Granger thing went to Gryffindor, the Patil twins got put into Ravenclaw and Daphne, of course, got put into Slytherin. Most surprising of all, the Malfoy vassals, Crabbe and Goyle, were placed… in _Hufflepuff_.

Macmillan Ernie was called up, where he strut up to the stool, and the hat yelled a great _HUFFLEPUFF_.

"Malfoy, Draco," Professor McGonagall read.

Hydrus watched him, chin raised, hair gelled back.

The hat was on his head for perhaps a second, not even, before it screamed "_SLYTHERIN!_"

A great amount of cheers erupted from the table farthest to the left, and Draco was ushered over by a great crowd of Slytherins.

But the shouts and clapping soon died, for it seemed people knew who would come after Draco Malfoy.

"Malfoy, Hydrus."

Whispers, quick as an arrow whistled through the Great Hall.

"_The Boy-Who-Lived, adopted by the Malfoys…"_

"_Is he evil, then?"_

"_His relatives died in a fire… some say it was started by _him."

Hydrus ignored them all, raised his chin high, and smoothed down his robes.

Carefully, Professor McGonagall set down the hat on his head. It was heavier, much heavier than Hydrus thought it would be.

"_Hmm…" _A voice said. "_Most curious_."

For a moment, he thought it was the red eyes, the dark ashy face and the flames, ready and willing to scar his mind and reduce him to a mere slave.

"_Not a bad mind, I see," _the hat mumbled, "_though a bit quick to run to conclusions. No, I don't think Ravenclaw shall do."_

It was the stupid hat saying those words, Hydrus realized. He hated it.

"_Clearly, not a Hufflepuff either. Very brash, almost like a Gryffindor. But you're cunning as well. Did you know that Harry Potter?"_

"I go by Hydrus, now," he said aloud. "Hydrus Malfoy, heir to the Black family. Harry Potter is dead to me."

"_Then clearly, ambition trumps all. Better be - SLYTHERIN_."

Loud, loud cheers burst from the table clad in green and silver, clapping and even whistles, along with some excited bursts of "_W__e got Potter!"_ which were quickly silenced.

He made his way over and gave Draco and Daphne a shaky grin before sitting down.

His betrothed kissed him on the cheek, the first time they had ever done anything more affectionate than hold hands. Blood blossomed all over his cheeks, and Hydrus suddenly felt very hot.

There were some wolf whistles now, and Draco gave him a crooked half-smile.

It took six overly-exaggerated coughs from Professor McGonagall and two glares from the professor with chin-length greasy hair (Professor Snape, as Lucius had once introduced them. The Dark Lord's most faithful potions master.)

Theodore was sorted into Slytherin almost immediately, and Draco looked extremely relieved to have the direct two seats beside him occupied, for right after came "Parkinson, Pansy".

Across from the table, Draco was mumbling over and over, "_Please, please let her be in Hufflepuff. Merlin, if you have a soul make her go into Hufflepuff. Please, please, please, just so long as she isn't in Slytherin."_

Pansy made her way across the room, throwing a quick 'loving' glance at her betrothed before sliding onto the stool.

The hat scrunched its eyes and creased its mouth, and for a long, long moment, it sat. Pansy was saying something over and over again, her words becoming more and more frantic until -

"_SLYTHERIN!"_

Draco cursed, and Hydrus grinned. It would be a fun year.

The sorting ended, as Zabini, Blaise was sorted into Slytherin, and Professor McGonagall rolled up her scroll once more.

"A special note for our newer students, _and some of our past ones as well._" Dumbledore, a man with odd blue robes and who kept looking over at Hydrus gave a great bit gesture. "That the Forbidden Forest is forbidden, along with the third floor corridor, for those who don't wish to die a traumatic death."

Hydrus laughed, but realized he was one of the few who did so. Looking around the hall, some students seemed oddly terrified.

What for? Dumbledore couldn't actually do something that stupid without getting a mouthful of backlash from the pureblood parents.

"And," Professor Dumbledore continued, "Mr Filch, our dear caretaker of the school has kindly reminded me to tell all of you that the list of all sixty-nine banned items has been posted on his office door. But of course, I know you must all be very hungry and tired after such a long journey to Hogwarts. So allow me some last words: _nitwit, blubber, oddment and tweak_!"

"The Headmaster has a funny way of speaking," said a girl as she dug into a plate full of English pudding. She was holding her fork in the wrong hand and eating in the wrong pattern, but oh well. Barbaric.

"Those last four words are actual words in the dictionary," said Hydrus thoughtfully. "They mean picky, fat, weird and… change?"

Draco nudged him. "Tweak is also slang for something else…"

"_Gross,_" said a boy a seat over. Blaise Zabini, it must have been. "Dude, we're eating."

"Dude?" Theodore said. "Muggle slang? Come on, we're trying to have a proper conversation."

"Good one," said another person. He was strongly built, and had a dark, dangerous look to him. Hydrus had seen him a couple times at the annual Black family dinner. That was Marcus Flint, eldest son to Tenebris and Valeria Flint, heir to the House of Flint. Born 1975, Hydrus' elder by five years. "I like this year's batch of firsties."

"All in good cheer, Flint," Hydrus said amiably. He raised a golden goblet with his left hand, letting the two rings on his finger and his melded bracelet, marking him as the heir to the Black family, be shown to everyone. "This year brings many old families to Hogwarts."

"Indeed," Flint said. "The Bulstrodes, the Greengrasses, the Malfoys, the Malfoys, the Notts, and even you. Heir to the House of Black. Admirable, if I may say so."

"This is all wonderful," Theodore said, "but we're here at a feast, dedicated to the beginning of a new term at Hogwarts, and not some Wizengamot session. We are all friends here, and there is no need for such niceties. There is a time for formalites, but now is not one of them. Let us dine as the school boys that we truly are."

"Spoken like a true pureblood," said Gregory Montague. A minor family, of above average wealth, and little political connections. He must be trying very hard.

The main dishes were whisked away, to be replaced with desserts, and everyone scampered for a bit of treacle tart. Theodore's words spoke true, and for an hour that evening, all the upstanding heirs of the ancient houses forgot about their affiliations for a meal.

When the dishes had been cleared, disappearing into thin air, the Headmaster stood, and raised his arms. "Let us commemorate the start of this year by singing the Hogwarts school song."

And at once, using his wand to conduct the song, voices mixed in the air, carving a rough symphony.

Hydrus belted the words at the top of his lungs, earning him a great big disapproving look from Draco. Daphne punched him in the shoulder.

He was still rubbing the spot ten minutes later, as they walked down the halls of Hogwarts. The portraits moved in this magical place, the stairs twirled and there were doors that seemed to be there but were nothing but spectral illusions.

"The Slytherin dorms are in the dungeons," Gemma Farley announced, a fifth year prefect who was actually quite pretty for a muggle-born. "It's sometimes cold down here, but it's worth it. We get a first rate view of the Hogwarts lake. The password changes once a fortnight and never share it with someone outside of your house. For today, in honour of the Noble families present in Slytherin house, the password is _toujours pur_."

As she said those words, the cobbled walls behind her opened smoothly, with not a sound heard but the gasps of the first years.

Greenish lanterns glowed from atop intricately carved wooden tables. Students, who wore green and silver badges, looked up.

Even Hydrus felt oddly intimidated.

"Everyone here above first-year is to head straight away to their dorm rooms," Professor Snape boomed.

He seemed to melt from the shadows, bearing an eerie aura of darkness around him.

Snape - Hydrus should really be thinking of him as _Professor _Snape - had a thing of looking like a freshly plucked wombat with long, cloak-ish wings.

It took very little to get the common room empty.

"Slytherins," Professor Snape began once all the students had left, "are cunning, ambitious and resourceful. They are smart, but not solely in academics like a Ravenclaw. They are compassionate like a Hufflepuff, but know when to draw the line. They are brave like a Gryffindor, but think before they leap. Slytherins are the best combination of all the houses, and _will act _as such. Should you choose to break the rules, make sure you do not get caught.

"Every student out there will hate you for the house you're in. No matter. The girls and boys in Slytherin house are your brothers and sisters, and shall be treated as such. You may quarrell, you may argue, you may scream, but outside of the safe confines of the common room, you are a singular face, the proud and flawless face of Slytherin."

Professor Snape looked at them all, spreading his terrible glare on each and every face, pausing too long on Hydrus' before waving his hand and saying, "Get out."

"He's a bit overkill, isn't he?" said a boy in plain cloth robes and poor posture as they walked up the stairs. He had an accent, some sort of tilt to his voice that made him sound a bit noble. "As if we're some sort of British royalty."

Some of them were.

"We are," said Draco with his usual tact. "Theodore is, Daphne is, Hydrus is, Bulstrode is and even Zabini over here has a rich mother, which pretty much makes him royalty."

"_But_," Hydrus was quick to say, having gotten used to digging Draco out of trouble with his words, "despite the fact that we're rich, we're still sleeping in the same room as you, because, you know, we're all eleven-year-old boys. Snape is dramatic. But you'll get used to him, I think."

"I'm wowed," said Theodore as he pushed open the door. "Close to tears. Inspirational. I call first bed to the door."

There were six beds in all, four-poster and draped in fine green silk complete with a bed stand and glowing green orbs for nightlights. The walls were covered with a web of ancient carvings, most of them snakes, slithering across pillars and decorated altars, almost as if they were servants, ready to serve a dead lord.

Great windows showed a somewhat queasy view of the Lake, blue-green water flowing and bubbling, tangles of seaweed waving in and out of view and multicoloured fish, small and nimble, darting from side to side.

"I think I can get used to this," said another boy, cheeks aflame with dark freckles. "Can I take that bed over on the far side of the room?"

Hydrus shrugged, not really caring about his words. He had already flopped down on the bed next to Draco's.

It was a soft bed, admittedly, but nowhere near the quality of the beds back in Malfoy Manor that could adjust their temperature and vibrate upon command.

Their trunks were there, waiting for them at the far side of the room, piled neatly onto the floor. The work of house elves, most likely. Hydrus would have to find a way to coerce them into telling him where the kitchen was.

"I think we should go around with introductions," said the same boy, and without waiting for a response, he continued, "I'm Garanor Galanos. From the UK, raised by half-blood parents."

"_Fascinating_," Theodore mumbled, not loud enough to be heard by the other side of the room.

"Oh, um, okay," said the second unknown boy. He seemed much more timid after learning that half his dorm was filled with people who could buy his family over half a million times. "I'm Alessandro Esposito."

There was a bed in between the two boys and Hydrus, a clear barrier between who exactly was superious.

"I'm Hydrus Malfoy," he said. "With a bunch of other titles. From Wales."

"Draco Malfoy. Hydrus is my adopted brother. We're both from the House of Malfoy, heir to lordship when my father dies and… betrothed to Pansy Parkinson."

"Betrothed?" said Galanos. "At the age of eleven?"

"Traditions," said Draco, who made it sound pompous. Hydrus squeezed his eyes shut and begged him to stop talking. "Most people in wealthy families are."

"Well, if being rich comes with _that_," Galanor made a noise of derision that sounded halfway between a scoff and a snort, "then I'm glad I'm not part of this sort of Wizarding tradition. Am I right, Alessandro?"

"I… -" he began.

"So I'm Blaise Zabini," Zabini was quick to say. "My mom is this woman who had, like, seven husbands, each dying in this really creepy way. So, you know, something to think about if you're going to argue like idiots in here."

"Excuse me -" Draco sat up vividly.

"Save it, Malfoy," said Theodore. "I'm Theodore Nott, from Great Britain, wizard extraordinaire, and you guys can save your hissy fits for when I'm not here."

"Well," Galanos began, "that's not very nice."

"Then go over to Hufflepuff, will you? Save us a bit of a headache." Draco rolled his eyes and began flipping through his robes for his pair of silken pajamas.

"Guys," Zabini sighed. "You're acting like a bunch of Gryffindors. We have classes tomorrow, so I'd appreciate it if I could get at least an hour of sleep tonight."

The water lapped against the walls of the dormitory, a slow, never-ending thrumming. There could be a distant bubbling heard, as a great big tentacled creature stuck its malformed head against the window. It nudged the window panes once, then twice, and its eye, dark purple and bloodshot, looked right at Hydrus and gave him a wink.

The Lake gave off a murky glare, a constant yet changing presence that blew dark specks of sand around.

There was the soft sound of water rippling and warbling, rocking Hydrus to a sweet sleep.

* * *

**A/N:**

**"The list of sixty-nine banned items." I just had to :3**

**Also, does anyone know what those four words "nitwit, blubber, oddment and tweak mean?"**

**Thanks so much to everyone who took the time to read this chapter, and I hope I'll see you guys next week!**

**Cheers.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N:**

**Special thanks to jzraael for her response - house elves have some weird names.**

**Well, enjoy this week, guys!**

* * *

Professor Flitwick stood exactly three feet and an inch tall, with a quivering moustache that would bounce a thousand miles an hour when over-excited. It put the newest Nimbus two thousand to shame.

He had to stand on a crate when doing attendance, and spoke in a high-pitched voice, an odd combination, especially when compared to his muggle suit-like robes.

"Charms," he squeaked, "is a very delicate matter. Useful, yes, versatile, even more so, but terribly dangerous as well. Well, let us start, and see who completed the summer reading. Does anyone know where the vast majority of charms and spells were created?"

And at once, seated on the other side of the room, as wisp of dirty blonde curls sprung into the air, as Granger's hand burst upwards.

"Ah, yes. And you are -?"

"Miss Granger, sir," she said. "And most spells were made in Ancient Rome, by the priests. I believe their name was the College of Pontiffs… led by the Pontifex Maximus? Oh, my stupid brain won't remember. But - no, sorry. It _was_ the Pontifex Maximus who approved of the spells, mostly to be used in the name of the holy lord, back before Merlin was born. Or was it? I -"

Draco sniggered loudly. As did about all of the Slytherins in the room.

"Thank you, Miss Granger. I see that you have done some extra reading as well, an excellent initiative. Take five points for that. And she's absolutely correct. The first spells were made by stringing Latin words together, for they had a particular divine power associated with them. It was said that the first spell ever to be created was blessed by Jupiter, himself, Lord of the skies and king of the Gods."

"What about the Greek Gods, Professor?"

It was not Granger trying to be an overachiever. It was _Galanos, _who frowned and although his hand was in the air, he had not waited for Professor Flitwick's permission before speaking. A big issue that Nancel Fenwick would have thrown a fit over.

"A good question, and while it is normally asked that a student receive permission before speaking, I understand that this is a most curious topic. Please, Mister -"

"Galanos, sir."

"Yes, thank you. Mister Galanos. What was it that you wanted to say?"

"The Greek Gods came before the Roman ones, sir. Why is it that the spells are in Latin, and not Ancient Greek?"

"It is a most interesting question, and I always encourage some hefty reading among my students. Unfortunately, historians can only trace back so far, and are at a loss as to why it was the Roman wizards who invented the first verbal spells. Now, please, if you'll direct your attention to the screen over here, I have the complete list of all the spells you'll be learning this year."

An old projector, possibly even made with muggle technology, whirred to life as a list of some ten-odd words were brought to life.

"Please," said Professor Flitwick, "feel free to copy these spells down. They'll be brought up in reference many times throughout the year, and as the end of the week approaches, I expect all of you to know the full definition of these spells, derived from Latin, if you may. Feel free to consult the library, and any student in the year above. Remember, I want it derived from the Latin language, and not a simple definition. For now, let us focus on your wands."

The rest of the class whipped by quickly, and as Hydrus packed away his quills and pots of ink, he felt very glad for one Nancel Fenwick.

Herbology came later, where they all trouped out into the Greenhouse (but not before getting lost twice), and met Professor Sprout, head of Hufflepuff and Professor of Herbology.

The place smelt of an earthy jungle, with the distinct smells of sap and leaves and dirt, and even a trace of… feces in there.

Plants as great as a hundred broomsticks stacked head-to-tail stretched across the ceiling and snaked its way along the wooden beams, a cacophony of all sorts of colours.

Later, as Draco complained loudly of the dirt stuck in his nails, from learning all about different types of soils ("_Fenwick taught us all about this _without _needing to ruin my appearance_!"), they walked into the Great Hall for lunch.

Sometime after that, they climbed up the six million steps of the Astronomy tower, thick cloaks wrapped around their shoulders, for it was warm during the day, but terribly cold at midnight.

Professor Sinistra waited for them at the top, eyes bright and excited as she explained in vivid details about what, Hydrus did not know because he was too busy trying to stay awake. For the rest of class, they looked at the night sky, and dotted the stars down, to cross-reference with their texts. Six times he poked himself in the eye with the telescope.

Professor Sinistra made them memorize all the major constellations as homework.

"She's terrible," said Galanor as they turned in for bed at half past one in the morning. "This entire subject is just so stupid. Why do we have it in the first place, anyways?"

Unfortunately, Hydrus found himself sharing the sentiment.

They had potions thrice a week with Professor Snape, who awarded Slytherin house five points when Hydrus could answer every single question from the book of _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi_, but when they all turned to begin their note-taking, he could have sworn a pair of beady eyes glared at him all-throughout.

Once in a while came a brief respite from classes. History of Magic, and Draco's new favourite subject. It was taught by a droning old ghost that spoke in a dull, monotonous voice that echoed off the walls such that his every word was the prose of a lullaby, and on a hot day as any day in September, it was guaranteed for a person to fall asleep within fifteen minutes.

At the very last period of the first day at Hogwarts came the most awaited class yet. Galanos had even fantasized about all those 'ninja spells' they'd learn.

But Defense Against the Dark Arts barely lived up to their expectations.

Their professor, _Quirrell_, the man Lucius seemed to hold in high regard, stuttered worse than an old fool, and seemed to be half-terrified of some ungodly creature, hiding underneath his bed.

He stank of garlic, so bad and terrible, that Draco had taken to covering his mouth with a cloth whenever he came by, and would bring around a bar of chocolate, in case Professor Quirrell would ever come by.

And Hydrus... he felt strange whenever the professor approached, as if some part of him was missing, and had latched upon the quivering garlic-man. It sounded so stupid he did not dare word his thoughts aloud.

Transfiguration wasn't much better.

They took copious amounts of notes for about half an hour, before Professor McGonagall, with a severe face and little patience, passed around wooden matchsticks to be turned into needles.

And when none of them succeeded, she gave a curt nod and told them how almost none of the first years had managed, and to not be discouraged.

Hydrus felt a great amount of irritation bubble inside the bottom of his gut, and whenever he got the chance, he took the matchstick he never gave back to Professor McGonagall and said the stupid incantation so many times he thought he might snap it in half.

Everyone who approached his craze was quickly met with a scathing glare, and it took Daphne almost barreling his down shoulder from a very irritated punch, before he grudgingly put his wand down. Even still, he glared at her.

"There are people who want your help, you know," she said, ignoring his look. "Draco was bragging to everyone who had ears about how you two learnt Latin. A couple Slytherins, a handful of Hufflepuffs and a Ravenclaw."

"Oh," said Hydrus, who didn't have a single care in the world right now, but for the stupid toothpick in front of him.

"There's Susan Bones who has offered her help in Transfiguration if you help her with Charms. I heard that she's the only Hufflepuff who managed to turn her matchstick into a needle."

"Bones?" He said.

"Ancient and Noble House, part of the Sacred twenty-eight. You would do well to go up on her deal."

"I guess," said Hydrus, who had been perilously close to snapping the matchstick in two parts.

"Good," said Daphne. "Come on and take a break. Worry about Transfiguration tomorrow."

__(O.O)__

"I'll take your offer," Hydrus found himself saying, even though working with a Hufflepuff should have been below him.

Susan Bones didn't seem to hear the uncertainty in his voice, and gave him a great big smile, very unlike the glares he received from her tablemates.

"Great. I'll see all of you guys later." She flashed everyone a smile, tucked a strand of reddish hair behind her ear and swiftly gathered her belongings.

The libraries were great and vast at Hogwarts, holding what must have been a hundred million texts and manuscripts and old books written on papyrus and bound in leather and tied with string. Tables and chairs, carved from elegant wood sprawled all over the floor, where there could always be found a Ravenclaw, with its head buried in the pages of a book.

Hydrus led them far, far deep into the twisting and turning bookshelves, until they were so far in that what little chatter that could be heard was muffled by ancient tomes covered in a fine layer of dust, so thick and large they might have swallowed him whole.

"Here looks like a good spot," said Bones, who kept glancing nervously at Madame Pince, the librarian, who shelved books half a yard away and gave them no end of filthy looks.

"So what was it that you needed help with?" Hydrus knew very well what it was, but he found it a bit hard to believe that there weren't actual books about such things spread throughout the library.

"The Charms homework," said Bones.

"So you what you mean to say is that you're too lazy to do it all on your own, right?" She blushed a bright crimson, and Hydrus laughed. "My, my, my. A Hufflepuff, trying to cheat its way through?"

"It's not cheating," Bones mumbled. "It's an exchange."

"Yeah. Sure. Here's my sheet. Feel free to copy it over."

Hydrus drew a long roll of parchment from his bag, two feet and an inch in total bound in twine and written in perfect penmanship.

As Bones began reading through the words, Hydrus found himself explaining every little term and definition, even the wand movements, because… because… he couldn't quite explain why.

"This is detailed," she said. "Wow. Give me a moment, and I'll take some notes."

For the next while, they sat there in silence, as Bones scratched away with her feathered quill, Hydrus sat, thinking.

"You're here for more than just homework, aren't you?"

"What do you mean?" she said. But it sounded much more squeaky than it ought to be.

"You're a bloody Hufflepuff. I'm not stupid, you know. You offered to help a slimy Slytherin, to do what, exactly?"

"If you would help me… with my Charms homework…"

"Remind me again, this Slytherin is part of which family? The House of Malfoy? Black? Evil? Something you wouldn't want to taint your pure reputation on?"

"My Auntie doesn't think you're that bad," said Bones.

"Your Aunt?"

"Yes, she thinks you're actually going to be a fresh and radical head of House and that -"

"So your Aunt put you onto this. To befriend me and use this as leverage for the future? Wasn't she also a Hufflepuff? Amelia Bones, head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement? That's your Aunt, right?"

Bones blushed an even deeper red than before and refused to raise her eyes from the table. "You're the heir to the Black family. And for once, as my Auntie says, they have a reasonable heir."

"She's nice," said Hydrus.

"Yes, well." Bones looked so embarrassed and flushed that Hydrus felt a little bad staring her down.

"We're eleven," he shrugged, suddenly desperate to change topics. "This… can be… talked about later. So… About Transfiguration…"

She seemed eager to jump to the next topic. "Show me what you can do."

Hydrus slipped the wand from his sleeve, and with the same demanding, tired voice he used all those thousand times before, he chanted:

"_Foramen acus._"

And nothing happened.

"I don't get it," Hydrus ground out. "What do you do that I don't?"

"I - I'll try -"

"_No_," he yelled. Madame Pince stuck her ghastly head between the bookshelves and gave them both a terrible look. "I - we only have matchstick. Unless you know how to turn it back?"

His voice was filled with such raucous bitterness he winced a bit upon hearing his own words.

She frowned, and her eyes went glassy, swarming with unshed… tears?

"No," said Bones slowly. "I don't… know how to turn it back. But… when I try to do the spell -" she closed her eyes and waved her wand and whispered _foramen acus_ "- I imagine the needle. I think."

So Hydrus did that. And again and again, but the matchstick did naught but budge, and when it would, it quivered and… nothing more.

For the next long while, he sat with Bones, in a dusty corner of the library, and whispered _foramen acus _so many times that it tasted almost foreign on his tongue.

Again, and again he went on, thinking about a long pointy silver thing that sometimes was as thin as a needle, but mostly as thick and broad as a longsword, decapitating whatever stupid person invented the spell… his mind roared on and on until the rage and anger and irritation pooled into his mind that -

"_FORAMEN ACUS!"_

And the matchstick grew longer and longer, seeming to thicken until it was as great as a three-foot sword, but thin as a needle.

It glowed a hot, molten silver, shining in ethereal light.

For a moment, Hydrus stood. He could not quite understand what was going on.

But his breaths came out in ragged bursts, and his forehead burned. When his hands raced to clutch it in pain, sweat, slick and heavy came raining off.

Sudden cries could be heard in the library, a particular high-pitched annoyingly shrill shriek, that made him want to butcher the person's head off with the odd contraption laying in front of him.

Footsteps were racing about, pounding and pounding, shaking the floor with their urgency, or was it his head? He could not tell.

There was a scream and some more voices, terrible gasps, and a dark smoke that wafted through the air.

Hydrus gagged once, then twice, and felt a terrible stinging in his throat. The smell of burning wood assaulted his nose and when he found the courage to _move_, he realized, with a great amount of horror, that fire, bright and terrible, burned on his hands.

Too late to feel any regret now, for whatever it was that he had done, the smoke would kill him if he did not move.

Some more voices joined in, far, far away.

There was a jumble of words that sounded distressed, others authoritative. A chant in some faraway language, and somewhere, somehow, there was laughter.

It bounced off the walls and reverberated in his head.

It was blinding, so loud and so terrible Hydrus could not think for as long as the cackling went on.

"Shut up," he said weakly. The fumes stung his eyes, and his coughing joined the crackling of the fire. "_Shut up, shut up, SHUT UP."_

The guffaws faded, and right in front of him, bright red eyes glowed in the smoke.

Had he done all of this?

Terror gripped his insides and wrung them about, squeezing him with harsh calloused hands until the fringes of the world grew darker, and slowly, slowly, the world began to fade, until it was just a tiny speck, and that tiny speck quickly changed into a storm of fire that stung and burned until Hydrus wished he were dead.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N:**

**This one's a looooooooooong one. Have fun, guys!**

* * *

His head hurt, he realized.

It ached and burned and pounded, as if a thousand Hungarian Horntails had trampled upon his forehead while he slept.

There were some sounds, high and low, shrill and calm, dancing a terrible tango that reverberated throughout the inside of his head, ecchoing and ecchoing, until his ears rang with so much pain he wanted to yell.

"So you mean to tell me that my son, a mere eleven-year-old boy burned down the school library. Is that right, _Headmaster_?"

The voice was commanding, insisting and self-important, filled with confidence and certitude, a hint of disrespect threaded into its words.

He couldn't care less. He wanted it to shut up.

"No, no, none of that, dear Narcissa. He burned down only part of the library. It was lucky that Filius and Minerva were nearby. Or else, I'm afraid things would have gone down very differently."

He tried to open his mouth, to open his eyes, to tell the occupants of his room that he wanted his peace and quiet and that they should be quiet, but the words could not form in his dry throat, that felt parched and blistered and horribly coarse.

"But is he alright?" asked the first voice, with just a little bit more trepidation laced into her words.

"Minor injuries -"

"I wasn't asking _you_," the voice spat. "Severus. Hydrus, is he alright?"

A deep, leathery voice assured her, with a sort of slow, waning rhythm, that her son was indeed in a stable condition.

"Good. Good. Hydrus, dear, can you hear me?"

"Madame Pomfrey says he shouldn't be awake for another twenty-four hours -"

"_To hell with Madame Pomfrey! _Hydrus? Can you hear me?"

Hydrus… Hydrus…

That was his name, wasn't it?

He took a great gulp of air, and slowly, slowly, forced his eyes open, and regretted it terribly.

The world was wrought in harsh light, bright and burning, that made his eyes burn and his insides melt to mushy marmalade.

"T-t-t-urn… turn… _turn it… o-o-ff…"_

"Turn what off?" the voice said.

"_B-b-b-right_… things…"

"The lights," said the same voice. "Turn off the lights, Dumbledore."

There was a ruffling in the air, and the world was covered by a thick, dark blanket, with not a thing to be seen. The churning stopped immediately, and Hydrus felt as if he could breathe once more.

"Do you need anything, Hydrus?" said the same voice, simpering and sweet.

A piece of cool glass was placed underneath his lips, and slowly, water, fresh and sweet and incredible was poured into his mouth.

For a moment, there were no sounds in the room, but for the heavy swallowing of water, great big gulps that echoed off the walls.

"No," he rasped at last. "No. Where… there was a girl with me… is Susan… Bones… is she alright?"

In the darkness, Hydrus could have sworn he saw Dumbledore's whiskers twitch.

"No, no, none of that. Rest, Mister Hydrus. Madame Pomfrey has insisted that you sleep. Here."

Dumbledore never answered his question.

And the glass was taken away, to be replaced with another, and a glutinous liquid flowed down his throat, crawling and crawling until he could feel it no more.

__(O.O)__

He woke up, once, twice and then another three times, and everytime, the pain in his forehead would go down a little. But the light… it was blinding and scary and seeing the flashes as Madame Pomfrey cast spells with her wand was enough to make Hydrus squeeze his eyes shut.

On the seventh time he woke, it was when Draco and Daphne came, in the darkness of the night, under a blanket of stars.

"You're here," Hydrus whispered. "What… what… why?"

Their faces glowed pale and wan in the moonlight, and he had never thought to be so happy to see two people in his life.

"Your eyes -" Draco began.

"I - we've missed you," said Daphne quietly. "It's been…" She looked at Draco, and for a moment, they looked eerily identical, silvery white hair glowing like molten silver, sharp cheekbones and creased eyes. "Two weeks…"

He didn't dare think about the rumors that would have been spun, from a thousand voices that wanted to dirty his great reputation.

"Did… did… what happened?"

"The library caught fire," said Draco. "How… Hydrus… Did the match catch on fire? What sort of spell were you doing? Don't tell me it was a ritual you found in the Black books or -"

"Shut up, Draco. Hydrus, there was a sword that Professor McGonagall found. Was that your doing?"

He thought long and hard about that day, about the library and the stupid Transfiguration assignment and the spell and…

The red eyes, that glowed with hot fury in his mind.

No, he could not tell them, his two greatest, bestest friends about the demons that burned his throat while he slept.

"I can't remember," he said. "It's… a mess."

Draco frowned, and Daphne squeezed his hand.

"We haven't been visiting you during the day, you know," said Draco. "Because that bitch of a woman, Pomfrey forbade it for some stupid reason. Only mother got to see you, and she wouldn't tell me much. It's a great relief to see you well and good, Hydrus."

He hummed, for he was beginning to feel weary, and desperately wanted to close his eyes and _sleep_.

"We'll see you tomorrow. We need to let him rest, Draco. Sleep tight, Hydrus." She carded her fingers through his hair, and Hydrus wished he could reach up and take her hand, but when he tried his arms cried in pain.

"G'night," he whispered.

They left as quietly as they came, and only when they were gone, did he realise how unkempt they looked. 

__(O.O)__

"You can't open your eyes, Mister Malfoy?"

"I don't want to."

"I need to see your eyes."

"No."

"Please, Mister Malfoy. It's important."

"_No_," Hydrus growled.

"I understand that you may not be accustomed to regular lighting -"

"No," he said quieter, and shook his head. "Not ever. Never."

"Is there… something you want to tell me?"

"No."

"Then really, Mister Malfoy, it is of the utmost importance that I get a look at your irises in order to gauge the severity of your current state -"

"Are my eyes red?"

"Well I don't know," said Madame Pomfrey, "you see, I can't tell if you won't _open your _-"

"I'm not stupid." Hydrus looked directly to his right, where he hoped the matron stood. "There's a reason why you won't let Daphne and Draco visit me. It has something to do with my eyes, doesn't it? Are they orange? Red? Yellow?"

"I - I said nothing about that!"

"But you're not denying it," he said sharply. "I'd like to know. Right now, please."

Hydrus hoped she hadn't heard his voice warble as he spoke.

"Yes," Madame Pomfrey said tiredly. "Yes, if you must know, _but_ the Headmaster believes it may be a temporary affliction, and a simple concealment charm will cover them up if that's what you're worried about -"

"It's not." Even if it was. Only partly. "I need to know - was there anyone I hurt?"

"You? No, no, none of that. The accident in the library was caused when the spell you were practicing went awry. None of your fault, naturally."

_None of my fault_, Hydrus thought bitterly. _None of my fault_.

He could hear the cackling, the raucous laughter that slashed through the air, as vicious as a thousand flames.

Could that have been… him?

Laughing, as great fires spurted from his palms?

Burning down the school library, possibly _killing_ students as they scrambled away in horror?

Some of them would have been mudbloods… but others… _Bones_ had been right beside him. The heir to an Ancient and Noble House.

With great despair, Hydrus realized how Madame Pomfrey never truly answered his question. His stomach plummeted far and deep, and he wished for another dreamless sleep potion, to pretend all of it was a dream.

"I need…" he began, feeling the wisps of terror rise as he spoke. "I… need to see my family's barrister. And my parents. I need to talk to them. Please, Madame Pomfrey. Look, I'll even open my eyes if that's what you wish -"

Hydrus did, and felt… alright, at first.

It was bright, and tears swam in his eyes. He blinked them away rapidly, but kept Madame Pomfrey's gaze with resolution.

She stared at his eyes intently, and at once, took out her wand and the flashes started.

He felt his heart leap to his throat half a million times, pounding and pounding, beating until it couldn't possibly go any faster. His palms felt slick and his forehead beaded with sweat he could have sworn was never there before.

Fear, great and thick, wrung his stomach and squeezed his lungs, until he could not breathe anymore.

Quickly, he slammed his eyes shut.

"That will be all, Hydrus," said Madame Pomfrey. "I… will send word to your friends, that they may come in. In the meantime, there's been some scrambled eggs and toast brought for you and -"

"I want to see my barrister."

"Surely - why, oh, no, I'm afraid not, Mister Malfoy. Focus on recovery before anything else."

"You don't understand -"

"I'm afraid I don't. If the cost of reparations is what that bothers you, then rest assured that the Board of Governers have agreed to cover the cost with -"

"No, not that," said Hydrus with great impatience. "I must see him."

"For what?"

"That is between my barrister and I."

"Do not be unreasonable with me -"

"Madame Pomfrey, you know that interfering with the business of the Most Ancient and Noble Houses has never been a good idea, of course?"

"Don't you dare threaten me, young man. I know just where my rights stand, and you should know where yours are. My job as matron of the school is to care for those who are in need of it, and you desperately need that care _right now_. I understand you may be feeling a bit frustrated, but for your own safety -"

"My safety or that of everyone else's?"

When Madame Pomfrey would not meet his eyes, Hydrus thought he might cry and scream, and do everything in between.

"Let me go," he said quietly. "_Let me go_."

She did not try to stop him.

When he tried to stand up, his legs burned and ached, and Hydrus felt tears prick his eyes. Without a word, Madame Pomfrey gave him a cane, waved her wand once, and he hobbled out.

He trampled down the halls, in his striped bedclothes, matted hair and barefeet.

The floor was soft and hard, and his calves heaved with every step, but it was no more painful than the looks he received. The second years and third years, who strut around the halls began whispering in quiet, harried tones, and would take great, sneaking glances at him. Older students gave looks, some curious, others pitying, others disdainful.

None were appreciated.

Hydrus stumbled up the stairs, down the hallways, past classes and baleful eyes, until he ascended the steps to the Owlery.

Just as he entered, his great and mighty Eostrix flew in, wings fanned out as _Caeruleus_ glided to his outstretched arm. He felt heavier than before, so heavy, that Hydrus was forced to set him down, as cramps rippled through his bones.

"I need a quill," he said aloud. "Is there a quill here. Some parchment?"

_Caeruleus _did not respond.

Hydrus searched all around. Droplings and hay lined the floor, as a thousand different owls hooted and tooted atop perches and racks. There was a snip of loose, yellowed parchment, and a bottle of ink that had been spilt onto the floor.

He took a loose feather, and dipped it into the puddle of ink.

Slowly, he started writing in a penmanship not as great as he would have liked.

When he finished, there was no candle or wax to seal the letter. There was no stamp either, or an envelope to hold the missive. None the matter.

"Take this to Cuthbert Templeton," he said, feeling a sort of panic drown his senses. "Right away, please, _Caeruleus_. It's… it's important."

He flew out the window, the scroll in his beak. 

__(O.O)__

"Hydrus," said Draco. "You missed breakfast."

He took a large spoonful of mash, and a sip of pumpkin juice.

The food tasted of sawdust, and his throat ached with the effort.

"You shouldn't be here." Daphne frowned. But she kissed him on the cheek anyways. "How are you?"

"Good," he managed, although he still hadn't changed from the blue-and-white bedclothes, and his hair was still a gnarly mess.

Word seemed to have spread all around school, and now, as he sat at the Slytherin table, squished in between Draco and Daphne, everyone kept pointing fingers at him and whispering in voices that quivered with fervor.

"You're looking peaky," said Theodore, without much compassion. He slapped Hydrus on the back, and shoveled half a fish pie onto his plate. "Eat up."

Daphne gave him a withering look, and Zabini's lips quirked upward.

"No," he said. Hydrus pushed his plate away. "I… I'm not hungry. I have to go."

At once, he squeezed Daphne's hand, or tried rather, for all he managed was a feeble squirm. Before they could say anything, he took his cane and waddled out the door of the Great Hall, amidst the foreboding stares.

Footsteps raced after him, Daphne's he was certain.

"You're not hungry?"

"I just said that, didn't I?"

"We need to talk," she said.

"We _are_."

"Is everything alright?"

"Of course."

They were walking down the hall now, far away from prying eyes. That was good. Daphne's betrothal ring glittered in the candlelight. It would do them no good to be seen quarreling in public.

"No it isn't," she said. "Something's wrong. You're not like this."

When she tried reaching for his hand, Hydrus jerked away, and almost lost his footing.

"Leave me," he managed to say. "Let me go."

Daphne did not try to catch up to him afterwards.

Hydrus waddled down the hallway, down some stairs, and onto the great grassy plains that surrounded Hogwarts.

The sun was bright, too bright. His insides squirmed.

He closed his eyes and wandered downwards, until he stepped a foot into the cold water, and muttered a string of choice words.

His legs ached terribly, and he sat down on a rock.

There was the rhythmic buzzing of insects, the fluttering of wings that continued on and on, and for hours and hours, Hydrus sat there, watching the dark water ripple with a thousand different colours.

For a while, it was only the lapping of the water, kissing the stones and reeds, whistling to the tune of the wind.

Hydrus sat there for a long time, until the world grew darker and darker, and he fell asleep, there and then, with his bare feet dug into the mud, small plants caressing his ankles.

The chill woke him, crisp and cool, that brushed through his paper-thin bedclothes as a knife might slue butter.

It was dark, and he realized someone had been calling him.

"Mister Malfoy."

A hand touched him - that was where the cold had come from. Long, thing fingers that could commit cold-blooded murder.

Was Hydrus to be killed here?

Revenge for burning Susan Bones alive?

"Mister Malfoy."

He whipped his head around, eyes still bleary with sleep, when he saw Severus Snape, looming over him with a great dark cloak and robes as black as ink.

"Professor," he rasped. "Are… are you here to escort me to Ministerial custody?"

"Excuse me?"

Immediately, Hydrus bounced to his feet, feeling the mud squish between his toes. If he hadn't been in such a panic, the sensation would have been quite pleasant. "My barrister has been notified. If you're going to question me, he will have to be present."

"None of that. You've been gone past curfew."

He eyed Snape carefully, wishing he had his wand with him.

But, of course it wouldn't be there.

It would have burned in the fire.

Along with Susan.

"I'll go back." Hydrus started to walk, and then remembered as he almost broke his nose, that he needed his cane. But when he searched for it, nothing showed. "My cane. Where is it?"

With the flourish of a wand, Snape took a stick and transfigured it into a cane. With another, he made a cloak. "Hurry up."

Did Snape really care about his well-being so much that he was willing to keep him warm?

It was only when Hydrus looked down, did he realise he was naked. "Someone took my cane. And my clothes."

"Indeed. And someone will give you a month's worth of detention if you don't hurry up."

He followed, fuming, at himself for being so careless as to fall asleep on a stupid rock, at those vile monsters who had taken his clothes and at Snape, for being such a prick.

He hobbled after him, past torches and statues and doors, until they had crawled down a thousand steps, and only then, did Snape whisper _purity_, and the great grey stones slide open.

Heads turned when they walked in, and eyes narrowed. Some backed away in fear, others raised their chins in defiance

Snape glared at them all, and left.

"I'm here," Hydrus spat. He spread his arms. "Here. The great Boy-Who-Lived, heir to the House of Black, and Burner of Libraries. Mock me, laugh at me. Steal my clothes again, _and I will end you_."

Without a second glance at anyone, especially at Daphne who looked close to tears, and at Draco who's eyes were filled with fury, Hydrus stumbled up the stairs, and into the boy's dormitory.

Inside, _Caeruleus _waited for him.

How in Merlin's shaggy balls did the ruddy owl find a way in, he did not know. But tied around his ankle was a scroll of parchment, and in his beak was a yellow-ish envelope.

Good.

Cuthbert Templeton had written back.

He slipped off the wax seal, just as Draco came in.

"Do you know who did this to you?"

"Leave me alone."

"The school -"

"I know. Leave me alone."

"You missed supper. I brought some -"

"That's great. Good-bye."

Without a word, Draco set down a plate of cold pie and tarts. He left, just as Daphne had left.

Templeton wrote a short, concise letter.

No, he was not, for now, being charged with the murder of Susan Bones. Nor was he being forcibly expelled from Hogwarts. Yes, his family would need to pay reparations, but, he had added, his family owned enough gold to buy the entire castle, so it was nothing to worry about. No, there were no charges being pressed, and yes, everyone thought of him as a murdering maniac, imbued with the Dark Lord's power.

The scroll contained an official missive from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, who wanted to begin a full investigation of what happened. Hydrus admired Amelia Bones for her courage. Perhaps their alliance would have taken off, if only they had time to get to know each other better…

He went to bed that night, with a cold, numb feeling that gnawed inside his chest.

When he woke up, his eyes were red and swollen. At breakfast, he did not speak to anyone, and brooded all day. Professor McGonagall took off five points when she saw Hydrus staring at his parchment. Galanos glared at him, and so did Pansy.

And magic… magic scared him, magic _terrified_ him. It was a twisted, horrid being that had killed a little girl, and Hydrus did not deserve to have a wand. He had refused to get another from Ollivander's, and Narcissa had very grudgingly allowed him to use Abraxas' old one. But he kept that wand locked away at the bottom of his trunk, under piles and piles of scraps and bits and odd ends. Hydrus would not touch that accursed piece of wood.

No, no, no.

Professor Flitwick looked at him understandingly, and Professor Sprout even gave him a chocolate frog and a hug after Herbology, but he could feel Professor Snape's glare, burning the back of his head when Hydrus cringed away from the flames. The Gryffindors would sometimes point and laugh, but he could not bring himself to care.

Those flames… it had ended Susan… and it could all of them.

Did they not understand how fragile their lives were?

How easily they could be killed?

But Hydrus would rather have Gryffindors watch him cringe away from fire, than Hufflepuffs, with their atrocious yellow-and-black badges, sending baleful at Hydrus, as if he were some piece of filth. Some called him names. There was Ernie Macmillan and his cronies, all from that dreaded house of "dedication, patience and loyalty", who threw taunts from half a room away in the Great Hall.

What irony.

On their own, they were pitiful, and Hydrus would have been a thousand times more amused, if their insults didn't have merit. Every little word they sent was an arrow through his heart, and as he heard their taunts, he knew there was only so much he could withstand.

That wasn't the worst.

It was Hannah Abott, best friends with Susan since when they were five, and who, if Theodore could be trusted, had cried non-stop for a week straight after her death. After, whenever Hydrus saw her, she would glare at him with such ferocious, tear-stained eyes, that he felt a ripple of sorrow thread through him.

Sometimes, he went to sleep feeling perhaps just as sad as she did.

And through it was Hermione Granger, through all of it, that kept the closest company with him.

"He's an eleven-year-old school boy," she had repeated stridently. "How, in the name of God, do you think he burned down an entire library?"

He spent more time with her than anyone else. Hydrus could not explain why he hid from Daphne and Draco. They looked at him so strangely, with pity and frustration and love mixed into their gaze, that he could not stand it. Any moment spent with them was a moment spent with questioning looks and trembling lips.

But Granger did not do that to him.

She looked at him calmly, and seemed oblivious to any of the sorrow he might be facing. That was nice.

When he hid from Daphne and Draco in the deep folds of the library, she was there, with blonde bushy hair and her stack of never-ending books. But even still, it got sour, and fast, and Hydrus knew, as Ernie Macmillan rounded the corner with most of the Hufflepuff and Gryffindor first-years in tow, that it could not last for much longer.

Granger was with him - Hermione, he really ought to be calling her, with books carried between the two of them, having come back from the library.

"You should go," he told her quietly. "Go, before they start hurting you."

"Excuse me?"

"Look at Lavender Brown. She'll probably put some sort of itching powder in your bedclothes tonight."

"Then I'll sleep in my robes."

For a moment, Hydrus grinned, but it faded, when Macmillan stopped not too far away, and slowly, his gaggle of first-years fanned out behind him.

"Malfoy," he spat.

"That's my last name, yes."

He glared at him. "You… you have the gall to hang with a muggle-born?"

"She's right here, you know," Granger said. "And she can tell you that she's doing this, _because she wants to_."

Hydrus felt a flicker of warmth swim through his heart. As he watched them, he saw, with sadness, how Hannah was not there.

Perhaps there was still some sort of Hufflepuff morality out there.

"Whatever." Ron Weasley stepped forward, with frayed robes and hair the colour of overripe pumpkin. "He's probably brain-washed her, using the Dark Arts."

"_He's eleven-year-old_," Hermione shrieked. "Use that brain of yours, Weasley. How can he possibly do that?"

"Oh, I don't know," he said, with a crude attempt at sounding nonchalant. "But that's because I wasn't raised by a family of Dark Lords."

"Exactly." Hydrus smiled. "You were raised by a family of paupers, too poor to afford any proper robes."

He jutted his chin, and as everyone shifted awkwardly, Hydrus allowed himself a smirk.

But Weasley was not done with him, no, never, not with that Gryffindor-ish tenacity flowing through his thick head. He raced towards Hydrus, a blur of swirling black robes, and smashed a gangly fist into his face.

Blood ran thick and heavy from his nose.

It throbbed, but he could not really feel it, not over the roar of thunder crashing in his ears, and the anger flowing through his veins.

And suddenly, it was not Weasley he was looking at, or the group of terrible first-years. It was red eyes, silently egging him on, cackling with mirth and twisted delight, sending trembles through his palms, willing them to burn.

He clenched his fists, tight so that his nails drew blood, but it was futile. He could feel the rising heat, the blood pumping louder and louder, until all of it was gone, and his hands were red, orange and yellow, all at once.

Hermione backed away. Weasley stood his ground, wand pointed at Hydrus, arm trembling. The group of horrible people stepped back, slowly but surely.

He must stop this, before - before it reached Hermione, before it burned her to death as it did to Susan.

He turned and raced down the hall.

He kept his hands clasped together, but his hands shone bright and scarily beautiful in the cold hallways, and students watched as he passed, with demeaning eyes and cutthroat looks.

Without a word, he dumped his hands into the washroom basin, and for a moment, it seemed the fire would extinguish.

But it was only a moment, and that moment passed quickly, and his hands turned the water to steam.

There was no one in the bathroom, and for that, Hydrus was grateful.

He sat there, hands cradled together, sitting on the floor, and watching the embers on his hand.

The flames died away, and so did his anger. Slowly, he crawled to his feet and Hydrus knew, as he walked back to his dorm in silence, that he could not stay in this damned school for any longer.

He worked quickly in his dorm, composing three letters, one for Cuthbert, another for his parents and the last for Igor Karkaroff.

When he was done, he lit the wax above a candle, making sure he didn't look too long at the horrible flame, and waited for it to melt.

"_What in Merlin's name are you _doing?"

It was that voice again, whispering into his thoughts.

"I'm moving," he responded, hoping he sounded much more confident than he felt. "I'm moving to a new school."

"_I don't remember… giving you permission_."

For a moment, Hydrus felt a prickle of fear, and he thought he felt his hands begin to heat up. "I'm - I'm sorry," he said quickly.

"_You should be. Go burn those letters."_

Slowly, he got up, and felt his chest pound and pound. There was no hearth in his room, but there were candles, that dripped with hot, sticky wax. He could not burn these letters. They were his path to freedom, his path far, far away from all the terrible people who belittled and cursed his name.

"I can't," Hydrus said quietly.

"_You dare defy me?_"

"I'm sorry," he whispered, "but…"

And his hands burned and flamed, they twisted over his palms, an invisible fire that seared flesh and made Hydrus scream.

He screamed and thrashed, laying on the floor, rolling on the floor, bumping into chests, hitting table legs and knocking down pots of ink. Each bounced off his head, but Hydrus could not truly feel the pain.

Then there were hands on him, soft and cool, that held his head in place. A voice, shrill and high, calling for something, just what, Hydrus could not hear over the screams.

When he woke up again, it was in St. Mungo's, surrounded by Healers in lime-green robes. And when he saw the candles and saw the flashes of light, Hydrus screamed and screamed and screamed until he was put to sleep once more.

* * *

**A/N:**

**There's a guy in the Reviews who told me to fuck off - so I'll take his advice today. **

**Fucking off!**

**Cheers :)**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N:**

**Special thanks to E. L. Girralo for your especially kind (and dark) words - though I'm afraid that Hogwarts is a bit too well-built to be destroyed by an eleven year old...**

* * *

It took a long time before Hydrus could use his hands once more.

They stung and throbbed whenever he touched something, and when even the tiniest flicker of light was pushed in front of his face, he smashed his eyes shut and tried desperately to quell his pounding heart.

The dorm room had caught fire.

From a candle, Narcissa told him, but Hydrus knew better. It was him who had done so. As all the times before.

He wanted to see Hermione, his new… his new… friend, was it? A mudblood - no, _muggle-born_, friend. He wanted to see her, to hear her prattle on about how none of this was his doing, how all of this was nothing, nothing and nothing, how he would be fine… to hear her voice…

But there was none of that.

When he had raised the tiniest suggestion, Narcissa had scowled and shook her head resolutely. "My son will not be seen in such a state of weakness by a filthy mudblood."

If her reaction was so vehement, Hydrus shuddered to think what Lucius might have done.

For two weeks, he was kept in near-darkness, with the moon and stars as company, though he was almost certain the window was a charm. Narcissa, Lucius, Daphne and Draco all made their visits, once, twice a day, and even Theodore brought his homework a time or two. Not that it would have made a difference. He could barely see.

Hydrus was fine with that.

The room was dark, and he could barely see his hands when they were stretched in front of him. When he ate, scrambled eggs and marmalade stained his bedclothes often as not, but it was a small price to pay.

The Healers did their little tests on him, with potions and spells and salves - all the little tricks they thought they knew. There were magical representatives from all across the globe too, who wanted a look at the terrible things Hydrus could do.

Narcissa had vehemently denied any sort of thing like that, insisting her son, scion of a Most Ancient and Noble House be treated better than a lab rat, but Hydrus convinced her otherwise. He wanted to get better. He wanted the horrible pair of red eyes gone.

There were wizards from the Salem Institute, across the waters. There were soft-spoken Japanese witches who came from Mahoutokoro. There were wizards from South Africa, who spoke with lilted accents, and brough Malva pudding whenever they came. Those, at least, made the visits better.

And as he sat for his twelfth appointment of the week, with the lights dimmed, wrapped in a white robe, sitting on a cot, and his legs stretched out in front of him, the newest Healer came in, a witch from Mexico, representing the interests of Castelobruxo.

"Good morning, Mister Malfoy, Mrs. Malfoy," she said when entering, her voice quivering with an exotic accent; a throaty sort of musical sound. "A good day, today, isn't it?"

In silence, they got to work.

Araceli Espana had come once already, over the past month, leading a team of Mexican witches and wizards over the investigation of just what was wrong with Hydrus.

Nothing had been found, if only a temperamental magical core.

But today would be different.

Today, Hydrus had finally convinced his mother to allow him to get his memory searched.

It had taken long, very, very long, but he had done it, after Narcissa had made Espana reswear the Unbreakable Oath in front of her eyes.

With Hydrus' approval, and with his mother pursing her lips, Espana dove deep into his mind, wafting through his memories. It felt queer, almost as if he were ducking his head underwater, with something stopping him from lifting it up. Panic, an odd sort of panic, seized him, and just as Hydrus thought he might cry out and stop this entirely ill-thought procedure, his nerves calmed and he was flying through memories.

Images flashed by him: a younger boy in a dark space, with spiders crawling over his ankles, the same boy hiding in tall grasses from a larger boy with hair the colour of straw. Some were of Daphne, as he gave her her first diamond necklace, and others were of Draco; them on broomsticks, flying through the air, another of them learning to write in Latin surrounded by candles. Hydrus felt a sliver of panic race up his spine, and immediately, the memory changed.

Deeper, Espana probed, until the most recent memories came to surface. Hydrus, in Transfiguration, with that stupid matchstick, and Susan Bones, dead, sweet, Susan Bones who was still alive then, with bouncing curls on her head and a smile to bestow upon filthy Slytherin.

It was them, with their heads pushed together in the library, her soft voice fluttering through the air.

"_No," said Bones slowly. "I don't. But… when I try to do the spell -" she closed her eyes and waved her wand and whispered _foramen acus "_\- I imagine the needle. I think."_

His memories settled there for a moment, as the scene played out.

Hydrus watched as past him felt a growing rage start to build inside him. Anger coursed through him, hot and explosive, until he yelled that fateful incantation, and -

There was nothing to proceed that.

Only an inky darkness where a memory should have been, where Hydrus could have sworn there were red eyes to stare back at him, where he had cackled like a mad fool and threw his head back until his neck might have snapped.

But none of that.

His memories raced forward, until the day he hobbled out of the Hospital Wing with a cane and tears stinging his eyes. He watched himself, him and Espana, as past him wrote the three letters on yellowed parchment. They watched as he dipped his handsome quill in charcoal-based ink, watched as he printed delicate words.

They watched as he heated the wax above a candle, and most of all, watched as Hydrus fell to the ground, rolling and rolling until Draco Malfoy and Daphne Greengrass burst into the room, holding him still with soft hands.

Then Professor Snape came in, and Professor Dumbledore, and the memory began to dissolve in his mind, as ribbons of thought dissociated, and they were no longer looking at the past.

"Your son has an advanced mind," Espana told Narcissa. "Not many boys can remember their early childhood as well as he did."

Hydrus felt a flicker of annoyance.

His early childhood was with the filthy muggles, in their filthy home. He did not want to remember the days and weeks and years he spent there, living under their roof, and believing he could be as ordinary as that.

"He is talented," Narcissa said carefully. She regarded Hydrus, and he knew that his mother knew just what he thought about that.

"It seems," Espana continued, "that the entire incident was caused by accidental magic. There is a blank space in your mind, Mister Malfoy, where the event happened. It is a common occurrence, when one uses a significant amount of magic, and not uncommon in what I've investigated through children."

_But I remember what happened_, Hydrus thought to himself desperately. _How can you not see it? I remember it, I remember it all. All the things you never saw; the red eyes, the soft grey smoke, the pain and… and… the flames, when I burned down that filthy muggle's home, and when the eyes awoke for the first time. Why can't you see it? Why?_

Desperation shone in his eyes, for he knew to say the words aloud would mean terrible, terrible pain that would course through his body and ruin his mind. Just like the Longbottoms.

Hydrus could not have that, must not have that.

But he must not remain prey to the machinations of that terrible pair of crimson eyes.

No, absolutely not.

But how to tell Espana, then?

He tried to tell her what to do, tried to plead with his eyes, and think loud thoughts and get her attention.

_Check my memories again,_ he thought desperately. _Again and again. Look at when I was five, when I was eight, with the locket, and now, when I am eleven, when I burned down the library and killed a little girl, and then later, when my hands were fire and I almost killed everyone in that hallway. Check it again, check it again, CHECK IT AGAIN, I BEG YOU._

"_And what, pray tell, are you doing?"_

The eyes were there again, staring cold and hard upon him, rippling with fury.

"Nothing," Hydrus tried to say as quietly as possible. "Nothing."

"Did you say something, Hydrus?"

Narcissa's eyes were on him, and so were Espana's. The red eyes disappeared quick as they came, and a most curious feeling of cold water trickled through his mind.

"Nothing, mother," he said. The feeling was snaking deeper and deeper into his mind now. Hydrus did not like it one bit.

She looked at him long and hard. Both women did, before Espana began to speak.

Immediately, the feeling of cold water was whisked away from his mind.

"I'd like to try something, if you don't mind, Mister Malfoy -"

"Hydrus," he said. "Call me… call me Hydrus."

Narcissa looked almost affronted, her eyebrows perking upward and the tips of her thin lips drooping down to the floor.

"Alright." Espana smiled. "Hydrus, you got a new wand, I hope?"

He took a swallow. It was kept far, far away from him, not even chosen at Ollivander's. It was his grandfather's wand. However much usable, he did not know. "Yes."

"Good. Do you think you're strong enough to recreate the spell -?"

Narcissa jumped to her feet. "Absolutely not."

"I understand your concerns, but I've spoken to the Healers at St. Mungo's, and they assure me that such a procedure will be entirely safe and without risk."

"My son," she hissed, "was almost burned alive, and now - and now, you want him to do the very _stupid_ things that almost _killed him in the first place!"_

Hydrus twisted his hands together, and felt terror grip his stomach, wrenching it around and around, until he thought that morning's breakfast might come flying from his mouth.

He could not very well hold a wand, no, no, no, not after everything it had done to him.

"I promise you," Espana replied. "That we'll be surrounded by proper equipment. Your son will be perfectly safe -"

Hydrus and Narcissa opened their mouths at the same time. "No."

Espana frowned. "If you're worried about the safety -"

"No," he said.

"I understand it seems risky, but my team and I are currently at a loss as to how this might have happened. If you want to get better Hydrus, and I know you really do, some risks must be taken, and I think this is one of them."

"No."

Narcissa smoothed her hair. "Even if we wanted to, his wand is that of his grandfather's, not likely to be of much help."

"If that is all that you're concerned about -"

"No," Hydrus repeated. His hands were shaking now, and he stuffed them under his lap. Still, the rest of him quivered, taut as a drawn bow.

Espana frowned. "I understand, then. I shall take my leave. Goodday, Mrs. Malfoy, Hydrus."

Later that day, Draco came over, and Hydrus felt his heart soar, until he pulled out his wand and offered to let him practice the transfiguration spell.

"It's alright," he declined. Just looking at it made him squirm. "I've been feeling a little tired."

"Don't be such a _girl_. Come on, everyone in the school has gotten that spell. Even Galanos!"

For a moment, Hydrus forgot who Galanos was. But then he remembered. A schoolmate. Dormmate. Something of that sort. Someone from that school, that cursed, horrible school.

Thinking about Hogwarts and its magic only seemed to make him feel worse.

"No."

"Scared, Hydrus?"

_Yes_.

"Of course not."

"Then do the spell."

"Do you even have a matchstick with you?"

Draco slipped something from his pocket and placed it on the bed stand. Hydrus felt his stomach drop. Narcissa should not have gone to the tea room and left them alone. If she were here, she would have stopped Draco. If she were here, nothing as terrible as this would have happened.

"You said everyone could do it." His voice wobbled. "Show me."

Draco regarded him with cool blue eyes. In an authoritative voice, he chanted, "_Forman Acus_."

The matchstick glowed hot, and Hydrus shut his eyes.

When he opened them again, the matchstick was a needle, small and thin, pointed and silver. Draco looked at him.

Lucius had lied when Draco asked why the room was kept in near-darkness. He had told him it was because of a certain magical reason. Draco believed him.

But he could see it in his eyes, as Draco stared, that he suspected. He suspected why, truly, why Hydrus was kept in this vegetable-state, why Narcissa fretted over him like a poor baby, and why he had not seen the light of day in weeks.

"Do you know how to change it back?"

His brother glared at him. "You did this so you wouldn't have to do it yourself, didn't you?"

Hydrus shrugged. "I'm tired. Leave me alone."

And just like that, he pulled the cover of his thick white blanket up to his chin and closed his eyes.

"You've changed," said Draco accusingly. "Something happened. Now you're no longer the same. Something about the library."

He pressed his eyes together, willing the tears to leave him alone.

"Are you okay?"

_No_.

"Yes," he croaked. "Of… of course."

There was a soft sound as Draco righted himself, and with quick steps, left the room.

In the darkness, in the quiet, comforting darkness that always surrounded him, Hydrus cried silent tears.

When Narcissa came to say goodbye, he put on a brave smile for her and wiped the tears from his eyes. But they were swollen and red, and his nose was bright crimson, and he knew there was no fooling her.

She did not say anything, but only kissed his wet cheeks and hugged his shaking shoulders, before leaving.

The next day, a psychotherapist was brought for Hydrus.

Narcissa was careful in not using those words to describe her, but the witch wore soft white robes and smiled in a genial and professional way. When his mother left, he was left alone with Ayla Lewis, who smelt of roses and spring.

"Tell me, Hydrus - if I may call you that - do you ever feel sad or lonely? Hopeless? Angry? Any sort of negative emotion?"

He gave his customary answer, the answer he always gave. "No."

"What about frustrated?"

"No."

"Are you dealing with feelings of mourning -?"

"_No._"

"I understand this might be a sensitive topic -"

"Get out."

"Pardon?"

Hydrus stared at her, and somewhere deep inside his head, he heard laughing. The voice was cackling, the bright red eyes brimming with unusual savagery. Was he becoming that terrible thing inside his mind?

"Please," he forced himself to say. "Please… leave."

Lewis left, robes swishing behind her.

Narcissa looked at him with pitiful eyes, the next time she saw him. Pitiful was bad. Hydrus wanted angry, at least, or furious.

But no. She only stroked his hair and kissed him goodbye.

A Healer came in, with an hourly check-up, shoving potions down his throat and waving her wand in his face. Hydrus made sure to squeeze his eyes shut.

Espana did not come back, not for days.

His waking hours were boring. The sudden influx of magical representatives wanting a look at the boy with incredible magical power were gone. But not Lewis.

She came every morning after breakfast, with some parchment and a quill, and a kindly smile upon her face that Hydrus had come to hate.

One day, as she prattled on and on about closing books and forgiving people, he told her loudly, "You sound like a fucking pamphlet."

Lewis looked at him, not a single bit of anger on her face. "I suppose I do, but you must understand, Hydrus, that what I'm saying is important -"

"You might as well be a piece of paper charmed to speak. I get it. I'm supposed to take deep breaths when angry, and find five new things to be grateful for every day. Can you get out, now?"

"Not until you understand."

"Pamphlets are made from parchment. What else is there to know?"

"That it is possible to move from the past. That some demons go away with time."

_Not the ones I have. The ones I have are in my mind. I am becoming my demons, I am becoming my worst nightmare. It will never go away. Never, never, never._

"Okay. I get it."

"No you don't," said Lewis. She looked at Hydrus with _adultly_ eyes that brimmed with pity, frustration and condescension.

"Yes I do." Hydrus did not like the she gave him. "Give me my wand, and I'll do the fucking spell."

The next day, Espana came, followed by a wizened old man, a sort of starry-eyed look to him.

"Mister Ollivander," Hydrus said. Panic gnawed at his stomach. His eggs and toast threatened to come flying out his mouth. But that would not happen, especially since Lewis followed right behind him, and Lucius and Narcissa. "It's good to see you again, sir."

"Likewise, Mister Malfoy, likewise. Let us start, shall we?"

The first wand Ollivander handed to him was long and thin, made of willow and sent tremors down Hydrus' back.

His eyes watered, and his throat squeezed shut, but he would not back down from that piece of wood, not with Lewis staring her horrible eyes at him.

For a moment, his fingers held the wand at its tips, not daring to touch any further. For a moment, he thought flames might lick the edges of his hand, or that the room might flicker with embers. But no. It was cold, cold wood, and nothing happened.

Slowly, Hydrus looked up.

Narcissa smiled proudly, and Espana graced him with a small grin. Lucius did nothing, and Lewis… Lewis looked as she always did, with a horrible face of sympathy and understanding, almost a humanesque version of a pamphlet.

"I… I don't think this one is it," he said quietly. Hydrus could feel all their eyes on him, waiting, judging, wondering if he would cry as a scared little boy might have done.

"Quite right." Ollivander brought a wand, this time shorter and rigid, dark brown and catching what little light there was in the room. "Let us see this one, then."

One after another, wands were put in his hand, and Hydrus told himself he would not flinch, he would not shy away. His hands were clammy and wet, and every so often, he would rub them on his bedclothes. By the third wand, his head was pounding, his heart was creeping up his throat, and his mouth was heavy with the taste of bile.

And by the fifth, he had spent so long tensed-up, so long cringing and awaiting the moment, that his arms felt weary and his legs were cramped. His heart thumped louder and louder with every passing second, and his eyes shined with unbidden fear.

"A most tricky customer," Ollivander said happily, thrusting a new wand into his shaking hands. "Eleven and a half inches, oak and unicorn tail."

He took it in his hands gingerly, holding it at the very end, as far as possible from his body without seeming unusual.

"Well, go on," he said impatiently. "Give it a little flick."

He jerked his wrist, and blood-red sparks shot from his wand.

Hydrus dropped it immediately.

The wand clattered to the floor, and Ollivander clapped gaily. "Excellent, excellent. A match for the wizard and wand. That will be ten galleons, Mister Malfoy."

Lucius ended up tipping him another fifteen, and Ollivander left with a great big smile on his wizened face, nodding to everyone in the room.

"Your magic seems to be in due form," Espana told him. "There were no particularly disruptive combinations, which is a sure sign that your magic is only passing through a phase of high turbulence."

It sounded fascinating.

"Try the spell, Hydrus," Lewis suggested.

He did not want to touch that wand again, not if it would make those terrible red-coloured embers fly from the end. It was too much like fire, too much like the demon he was becoming. But he saw Lewis stare at him, and Hydrus knew that his pride would not back down.

His hands and arms trembled, quivering like a leaf on a windy day, but they picked up the wand.

He wanted to snap it, to throw it across the world and never have to see it again. He was not worthy of such a thing. He would only kill people with it.

Espana set down a matchstick beside him and readied her quill. Lucius came closer, and Narcissa pursed her lips.

Hydrus was sweating profusely, thick globulous drops lining his forehead and threatening to fall in front of his eyes.

Slowly, he tried to remember everything Susan had told him. He tried to picture the needle; the silvery hue, the pointed tip, thin as a hair.

His thoughts strayed to Susan, and how the flames had been the same shade as her hair. But this was why he needed to get better, wasn't it?

So that Susan would be the last person he would ever kill with his anger.

_This… this is for you._

"_Foramen… Foramen Acus_."

The matchstick glowed molten red, and for a moment, Hydrus squeezed his eyes shut.

But no, he owed it to Susan to at least learn the damned spell.

Somehow, he kept his eyes open.

They were glued to the matchstick, and they watched, caught in a horrible transe. It glowed and glowed and glowed, lighting the room with orange embers.

Bit by bit, the light died down, until in its place was something silver and cold.

"Unusual," said Espana.

There was a sort of triumph Hydrus felt, bittersweet, that tasted sour in his throat. But he would continue practicing magic, he knew as much. But he could not stay at Hogwarts, not if he wanted to stay alive.

Espana left, and so did Lewis, who looked funnily annoyed.

Narcissa kissed him on the brow, and Lucius nodded, before they left as well.

Hydrus lay in the darkness, alone. How long it was for, he did not know, but the Healer came back to take his vital not too long after. She worked in silence, and quickly.

As she left, Hydrus reached for her arm.

"I want a candle," he told her.

"A candle?"

"A tall one, white wax that smells like peppermint."

She smiled. "Your recovery is going along nicely. I shall see to it. See you, Hydrus."

He reclined on the soft bed, and for a moment, felt at peace.

"What's so special about Hogwarts?"

But as he said those words, Hydrus remembered two months ago, a lifetime away, it seemed, as he boarded the Hogwarts Express. He remembered Daphne and Draco, and the horrible voice hissing about _a stone._

"You want the stone," he said. "What sort of stone is that?"

"_An important one."_

So he must go to that wretched school, and finish the task before his anger burned down the place.

Hydrus sat up and reached for his wand.

His arm still shook, and his hand trembled.

That could not continue. His fear of magic would have to go away.

When another Healer came, Hydrus asked for his textbooks.

"They were burned in the fire," she told him.

Had he really never bothered to buy new texts?

"Tell my mom to send in an owl-order. I want them as soon as they come. And tell her to order the second year texts as well. Please," he added as an afterthought.

She smiled at him, as the other Healer did, their names Hydrus did not know. He felt ashamed for that.

He would do better.

He had a job to do, now.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Oh man. The story's beginning to pick up now.**

**Thank you so much to everyone who took the time out of their day to read my story!**

**See everybody next Wednesday,**

**Cheers.**


	12. Chapter 12

He came back to Hogwarts on a quiet Tuesday afternoon, stumbling through the Floo in Dumbledore's office.

"Hydrus," he said happily. "How are you feeling?"

His legs were sore, and his arms still shook, but the Headmaster did not need to know that. "Fine. And you, sir?"

He smiled genially. "You are too kind. I'm doing quite well, and I know your friends will be missing you."

Professor Snape was waiting outside his office to escort Hydrus back to the dorms.

"You haven't gotten behind on your studies, I hope?"

"Of course not, sir."

He harrumphed, and Hydrus imagined skinning him alive. He did not know where that thought came from.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, and only stopped when Professor Snape said the dormitory password, _Polyjuice_. "Hurry in," he said, as the stone walls slid open. "Supper begins in an hour."

Any conversation stopped abruptly as Hydrus walked in.

Daphne gave a muffled shriek, and stood up so quickly her bottle of ink fell and shattered on the cold stone floor. Her shoes sent black footprints, and her soft blonde hair crackled as she ran.

"You're back," she whispered happily. Her arms squeezed him strong and hard, and she smelt of peppermint and Christmas.

That was perhaps the best thing that happened to Hydrus that day.

He did not see Draco until dinner, where he was, he did not tell him, but his lip was bloody and his hair tousled.

"Who did that to you?" But as he asked that question, Hydrus knew the answer. "Macmillan. Did he punch you?"

He felt bad. Draco did not need to answer. Hydrus knew he had been defending his honour.

"It's nothing," he said. His lips tried to quirk upwards, but blood only flowed from the cut.

Hydrus gave him a napkin. "You should go to Madame Pomfrey."

"What're you, my _mom_?"

He felt a strange wave of sadness, and did his best to cover it up by reaching for some kidney pie.

"It's a matter of pride," Daphne told him.

"It's not _pride_," Draco said scathingly. But as he uttered those words, more blood came running from his lips, thick and red. Pansy looked away politely, as did most of the girls at the table.

He wiped it away angrily and stalked from the table.

Draco had not eaten anything; his plate was still polished and untouched, save for a pool of blood that had dripped from his chin.

Hydrus made to go after him, but Daphne held him back.

"You need to eat," she told him.

He shook off her hand, and almost got to the end of the hall before Macmillan walked in.

"Malfoy," he called contemptuously. "Back to the school, are we?"

This was not the time, and that stupid oaf must have known.

But he only curled his lip and crossed his arms.

Hydrus ignored him, and tried to walk away. Macmillan stepped in front, and stared into his eyes.

"I'm talking to you, Malfoy, or have you gone deaf?"

Somewhere in his mind, Hydrus heard conversations cease, one by one, until it was only his breaths he could hear, deep and shallow all at once, tinged with trepidation and desperation.

There were sixth, seventh years - surely they had better things to do than listen to the squabbles of eleven-year-old boys?

"Let me pass," he told him.

"Oh, I don't think so. You see, Malfoy -"

But Hydrus pushed past him, and he was running out of the Great Hall.

Draco was in his bed, with the silk curtains drawn. Hydrus could hear him, breathing with soft puffs of air.

"I know you're in here," Hydrus said.

His brother didn't respond.

Hydrus ripped open the overhangs anyway.

His nose was bleeding, and he had taken his pillow to try and staunch the blood.

Watching him, Hydrus came upon the sudden realization that he did not know how to comfort him.

For a moment, he sat on his bed and offered the handkerchief in his breast pocket.

"They were worse before," Draco said quietly. "The first week when you were kept in the hospital. They punched my nose so hard it broke. Madame Pomfrey knew, I think. She fixed my nose and gave me some chocolate. It died down a little, after. Macmillan, that wanker, he's popular. Everyone _loves _him. I don't know _why._" He carded his bloodstained fingers through his hair.

"They punched you without provocation?"

Draco looked down. "They were calling you names. None of the things you did were true. I know it." Hydrus wanted to tell him otherwise. "You would never have hurt Bones, and you didn't burn the library, I know you didn't. But at the… at the… funeral they held for her… Macmillan… he yelled and screamed, and almost all the Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors rallied behind him. Someone hit me. I don't know who. But almost two hundred students were put into detention that day. I was scrubbing cauldrons for over a fortnight.

"They've been getting worse, though. I don't know why."

But as tomorrow dawned, Hydrus thought he knew why.

There were pumpkins that dotted the tables and floors, a mess of cobwebs, that looked real enough, reaching to the far corners of the Great Hall.

Breakfast was a mess of scrambled eggs and toast served with olives and cream cheese and raspberry sauce. They served pumpkin juice, thickened with what, Hydrus did not want to know, and dyed blood red.

Halloween was the day his parents, his _biological_ parents had died.

James Potter, and his mudblood - no, not mudblood. Hermione was a mudblood, and she was… _half-decent._ Muggle-born. James Potter and his muggle-born wife.

Halloween was the day James and Lily Potter died.

He felt elated, most times. It was what put him in the arms of those filthy muggles, but also what led him to Narcissa and Lucius, and most of all, Draco.

Yet, the students were muttering between themselves, hiding their faces behind pitchers of crimson juice, and whispering in soft voices, but Hydrus could hear them all the same.

"_He's evil…."_

"_He survived… because of his dark powers… today is an auspicious day…"_

"_He's in league with _Voldemort..."

"I'm going to Transfiguration," he told Daphne and Draco.

Draco's lip had swelled to the size of a cherry last night, and still, it glowed red. He made to open it, but stopped.

Hydrus left the table.

He found Hermione on his way there. "I didn't get to see you yesterday," she told him.

Her arms were full of books, the one thing stopping Hermione from wrapping her arms around him.

But when Draco and Daphne came, he watched sadly as she drifted away, to Charms.

For the first time in Transfiguration, Hydrus answered questions and did his best to perform the spells. When he tried to turn his quill into a fork, it still was white and soft to the touch, but Professor McGonagall gave him a smile so warm and great, Hydrus returned it and forgot, for a moment, that she had rallied behind Dumbledore in the last Wizarding War.

The joy faded quickly when he saw that Galanos and everyone else in his class had a fork lying in front of them, polished and silver.

And then it turned to ashes in his mouth when dinner came around.

"Where's Hermione?" he asked Daphne.

"The mudblood Granger?" Draco scoffed. "She ran to the bathroom, where she belongs. Honestly, I don't know what you see in her."

For the sake of their brotherhood, Hydrus said nothing.

A great feast had appeared on golden plates, that smelled of fresh-baked potatoes and tarts, roasts and pies, but when he tried to eat something, it tasted of sawdust.

There were lively conversations in the hall, and the distant flapping of wings. Dark bats flew about, landing on tables, scaring girls and chattering in high-pitched voices.

At a moment or another, Draco traded spots with Marcus Flint, and he complimented his rings before drifting off somewhere.

Hydrus paid little attention to it.

Inside, he was worrying.

He wanted to leave and find Hermione, but no students were allowed to leave the Great Hall during feasts. Professor Snape had been very clear on that.

His eyes kept scanning the Gryffindor table, searching for thick bushy hair, but he could not seem to find her.

Hydrus did not know why he cared so much.

Girls cried all the time. Aldebaran Rowle had told him half a hundred times during their etiquette lessons. Yet, as he felt his nerves rise, he could not help but think that something was not right. He owed as much to her to at least care.

Macmillan kept shooting him scathing looks, and some of his Hufflepuff compatriots did the same. Hydrus paid them no mind and reached for a jacket potato. The cheese was still bubbly and hot, but just as he went for a bite, the doors were thrown open, and Professor Quirrell sprinted into the Great Hall.

Shouldn't he have already been there?

"_Troll,"_ he yelled between pants. His purple turban was askew, and his eyes were bulged, a look of terror upon his face. "_Troll… in the dungeons… thought… thought you ought to know."_

He collapsed there and then.

And suddenly, Professor Dumbledore was on his feet, and everyone was talking at once. There were fingers pointed at Hydrus, and some terrible looks of loathing, and he might have been hexed into a million pieces, if it weren't half of Slytherin house, who leapt to their feet and drew their wands all at once.

"_SILENCE," _Professor Dumbledore roared.

But when that did nothing, he swished his wand and bright purple fireworks shot into the air. Reflexively, Hydrus clenched his hands and looked away. The sweet, savoury, incredible jacket potato had been crushed in his fist. He wiped it away quickly.

"Prefects," Professor Dumbledore said loudly, "lead the students back to their dormitories immediately!"

"That fat old codger," Draco swore. "Our dorms are in the dungeons!"

Marcus Flint rose, the green-and-silver prefect's badge pinned to his breast. "_Sonorus_. It seems that our extremely competent headmaster has forgotten just where our dorms are. In response to this, we'll be staying inside the Great Hall. Settle down, everyone."

Pansy was shaking as she clung to Draco, and Daphne herself held his hand so hard he thought it might be ripped off.

But… what about Hermione?

Nancel Fenwick had once taught him that trolls could smell human flesh from over a hundred yards. No… no… Hermione...

"I need to go somewhere," he told Daphne urgently, trying to pry her fingers off of him.

"_Are you mad?_" she shrieked. "There's a troll inside the school! What do you want to do, find a missing treasure?"

"Nothing of that sort," he said, hoping he sounded much more confident than what he felt.

"You can't go," she insisted, but her grasp on him loosened.

He slipped free.

The professors were leaving the Great Hall, one by one, marching with a look of self-importance and bravo.

"Professor Sprout," Hydrus yelled. She was almost out of the Great Hall, oh no, no, no, she couldn't leave. She was the last one there. If she left… "Professor - _Professor -"_

"Mister Malfoy," she said anxiously. "I understand this may be stressful and new for you -"

"Hermione's not here!"

She turned abruptly. "Miss Granger?"

"She wasn't at the feast," Hydrus repeated quickly. "I heard from Draco that she was in the bathroom crying, and didn't show up to the feast, and only now - oh - Professor, someone needs to tell her about this -"

"Are you sure about this?"

"_Yes!"_

"Then go rejoin your housemates. I shall inform the Headmaster about this -"

"You don't understand. Trolls naturally target live beings with their noses. _Hermione was the only one in the entire school not present at the feast!"_

Slowly, Professor Sprout opened her mouth.

No, no, no, time was running out. Hermione could not die. Not after Susan.

He did not quite know what he was doing, but his legs propelled him forward, past Professor Sprout who was now calling his name, past the great doors and through long corridors of stone gargoyles.

"_Hermione_," he called. It was quieter outside the Great Hall. Hydrus continued to run, keeping his nose open for smells. Nancel Fenwick had also once taught him that trolls smelt of every disgusting thing possibly imaginable.

He had dashed up two flights of stairs, and ran head-first into three girls' lavatories, to no avail.

"_Hermione," _he called, for what must have been the umpteenth time. A horrible sort of panic was pumping through his veins. It had been too long.

And as he dashed through another deserted corridor, Hydrus smelt it.

A combination of putrid eggs and garbage wafted through the air.

_The troll._

His legs were sore and tired, but he sprinted after the smell, and found a horrible monster, twice as tall as any man, with greyish, grisly skin. A wooden bat was dragged along the floor because its arms were so long.

Hydrus ran. "_Hey_," he yelled. "You stupid brute. Over here."

The troll turned its head, and grey-blue boogers fell from its nose as it let loose a growl.

And from somewhere in that room, a shriek could be heard.

The troll turned away from Hydrus and smashed its club at something. There was the sound of a thousand bits of ceramic shattering, the sound of heavy footsteps and -

A scream, shrill and filled with anxiety, a thousand times worse than the one before.

He was sprinting again.

"_Hermione,"_ Hydrus yelled.

She was cowering in the corner of the lavatory, hidden behind sinks, hands held together, almost in prayer.

The troll lumbered on, smashing its bat on each sink it passed.

But what could he do?

"_Hydrus!"_Now someone was calling him?

A whirl of silvery hair appeared beside him, and Daphne Greengrass righted her wand. "Confuse him," she screeched.

Hydrus grabbed the closest thing to him - the fallen head of a faucet - and threw it with all his might on the back of the troll's head.

For a moment, it turned its horrible mis-shapen head.

"_Granger,"_ Daphne yelled. "Run!"

But her eyes were white with fear and wide with fascination, and her arms trembled as she tried to get to her feet. No, it would be useless.

He needed to do something - something so dangerous and terrible that it would confuse the troll… but what… what could he possibly do?

His hands unclenched, and Hydrus steeled his nerves.

"Daphne," he told her quietly, as if that would make him feel better, "I need you to get out of here, and run. Get a Professor, or something like that."

"A Professor?"

"Do you trust me?"

She ran.

The troll was almost to Hermione, another two wash-basins before he could hit her.

_I need fire,_ he thought to himself. _I need the one thing I loathe so much. Fire. Fire… FIRE._

He tried to imagine red, crackling flames that danced across his palms, but fear seized his throat, and he could not breathe.

No, no, no, Hermione needed him.

_FIRE… I need FIRE._

There was only another sink between the troll and Hermione.

_You… the red… red eyes… my demon… save her… please…_

And suddenly, his palms were ablaze.

Hydrus did not think. He ran as fast as possible, and leapt onto the troll, pressing his palms against its neck.

Hermione screamed once more; a horrified, deathly shriek that made the troll twitch and moan, but Hydrus held on.

His hands burned, and they were hot and painful, and he did not want to hold on for much longer.

But he did, and he latched on through screams and yells, and only until the troll stopped thrashing, did he fall to the floor. His hands were still smoking, and the smell of burned flesh wafted through the air.

"Hermione," he croaked.

She let loose a whimper.

Water had begun flowing across the floor, putting out any of the remaining fires. That was good. He slammed his hands into the puddles, and only remembered belatedly how they would not go away.

There was the sound of fizzling, as the water evaporated.

He crawled to her, the edges of his robes dripping wet, hair matted to his forehead with sweat. Everytime he set his hand on the floor, the flames would cause the ground to soften a bit. It burned, it burned like seven hells, but he could not rest, not until he knew if she was alright.

Hermione didn't look much better.

Fallen bits of ceramic and dust coated her thick curls, and when she looked at him, her eyes were clouded and heavy with fear.

"You…" she said softly. "You… you killed it."

It was a horrifying sight, that made Hydrus want to retch.

The troll's body was still aflame, burning orange and bright. It crackled merrily, the tough grey skin now a puddle of pungent liquid, flowing and flowing, until slowly, there was no more skin left, and the troll was flayed by the hands of fire.

He felt bile creep along the fringes of his throat, waiting and waiting, for him to open his mouth, and let loose a thousand blood-curling screams. The fire… it burned bright and terrible...

Hydrus closed his eyes, and tried to wish it all away. The pain… the fire… the troll… all of it. It hurt so bad…

The temptation was too much, and as he clenched his fists over and over, tried to slap them on the ground, tried to quench the flames, the pain was too much and he screamed.

He screamed so loud that what remained of the lavatory shook. He screamed so loud that Hermione cried and cried and cried, and huddled further into the corner, trembling violently.

Professor Dumbledore found them like that; one sprawled on the floor, rolling in his own vomit, screaming and yelling and slapping his hands on whatever he could find, and another, crying with such intensity that she might have drowned in a pool of her own tears.

* * *

**A/N:**

**It has come to my attention that Chapter 11 was, like, _seriously_ boring. I'll be sure to rectify that ASAP.**

**In the meantime... well, for those of you that powered through all of it, _and_ managed to come back for more this week...**

**Damn. You guys are the greatest.**

**Thank you for everyone who took the time to read my story, and see you all next week!**

**Cheers.**


	13. Chapter 13

"It's bloody hilarious," Theodore told him back in the common room, as he handed Hydrus a plate laden with treacle tarts - his favourite dessert. "A guy and a girl walk into the loo, and when they come out, half the place is in ruins. Wonder what went on in there. Do tell - I need some tips for the future."

Hydrus held a tart in his trembling fingers and felt them spasm. Daphne might have wrung Theodore's neck, but she only stared out the window, watching small fish dance amongst seaweed.

She was shaken, he could tell. Her hands trembled ever so slightly as she reached for a tart, and when spoken to, Daphne responded with a weak smile and a sort of jerky nod.

Perhaps it was not everyday that one saw their betrothed rolling on the ground, hands ablaze. Even thinking about it, made his palms ache. The flames had been quenched, how, he did not know, but Professor Dumbledore had reassured him that his accidental magic had been taken care of.

It wasn't accidental magic, of that Hydrus was certain. But he could not possibly explain it to him, not with the red eyes brimming in the back of his consciousness, staring down at him with malevolent eyes. So Hydrus had nodded, and thanked the Headmaster.

Some part of him was certain Professor Dumbledore couldn't possibly believe what he did was a spark of unruly magic. The walls of the bathroom stalls had been a mess of melted, charred plastic and ceramic, that puddled onto the ground. What remained of the troll was black and crisp, and smoked, even though the Headmaster had found a way to quench the flames. When Hydrus asked him how, he had replied with, "A little magic, of course," and had handed him a chocolate bar.

His fingers were stiff and spastic when he took the bar, and he almost dropped it into a mess of fiery-hot troll-skin.

And as for Hermione… her face was a mess of mottled pink skin and dark red splotches. Burns, Hydrus knew. She was shaking and shaking and couldn't seem to open her mouth or talk or do anything, for that matter. Madame Pomfrey had been forced to levitate the young witch out of the bathroom. She would not be spending her night in Gryffindor Tower, perhaps not for the next week.

Yet, as Hydrus brushed his teeth in the boy's lavatory, he studied his pale face and saw no angry red pustules, or little blisters that dotted his own face.

And slowly, slowly, he thought back to his childhood, to the repressed memories. He thought of the Durselys, with their filthy muggle life, and remembered how they died.

By his hand as well, in a blaze of flame and glory so violent it had shook the foundations of the house, and he could remember no more.

When morning came, half the school seemed to detest Hydrus with their every breath, and another seemed to worship him.

"Our Lord and Saviour!" Theodore declared when he walked into the Great Hall for breakfast. "Please, take my seat. I am not worthy to sit while you stand, so great and mighty." He went to one knee, and held another plate of treacle tart in his hands. "If I might offer Your Grace a slice -"

Hydrus tried to smile, but he had slept fitfully last night, and was tired and drained. "Thank you," he told him.

The rest of the school regarded him with much more solemnity. As breakfast passed, some of the students came up to him, with tentative, shy steps, and begged his forgiveness.

"I'm sorry I was such an ass to you," Terry Boot said. "I can't believe I was so rude. It was dishonest of me - to think that you were a bigoted pureblood but then to save a muggle-born like that." He laughed bitterly. "I guess that means I'm more of a racist than you."

A queer feeling of warmth spread through him, and Hydrus even scraped a smile for Boot. "It's all forgiven," he told him, part of him meaning it, much to his surprise.

Boot gave him an awkward smile and hurried back away to the Ravenclaw table.

But all of that came crashing down when Draco gestured from the other side of the Great Hall. "I'll be back in a bit," he told Daphne.

She was still ghastly pale, and when she nodded, her eyes were unfocused. "Of course," Daphne said weakly.

Hydrus squeezed her hand worryingly and met Draco in the nook of a deserted hallway.

"So you did do it," Draco told him. His eyebrows were pinched together, and he hadn't spoken to Hydrus since the Feast. "All of it, then. The library, the troll… the fire… it was all you, wasn't it?"

"I…" Hydrus couldn't look at his brother. Anywhere but his face, pale and ridden with creases.

"All those times I split my lip for you, where I broke my nose for you… I was defending a false reality, wasn't I?"

"You were defending my honour," Hydrus said quietly. "That was never false."

"But you did burn down the library, and Bones… Merlin, Hydrus, do you know what this means?"

He didn't know what to say. "Susan was a good person."

"It's more than that," Draco laughed. He laughed a queer, raspy, bitter tune. "It could have been war. She's to be a Lady, as you will be a Lord. House Bones will remember what you did."

_But she was still an eleven-year-old girl, and you are an eleven-year-old boy. You play at being a high and mighty Lord, but there is so much more to the world than power and jewels and gold._

"Some of them say that the Dark Lord didn't truly die in Godric's Hollow. What if… what if…" Draco was shaking now, and he leaned against the stone wall, trembling and looking out the window. "What's happening, Hydrus?"

_It's the eyes, Draco, the red, crimson eyes that flutter in and out of my mind, that tell me to do one thing, and then the next, and I can't stop them. Not truly._

"I don't know," he lied. "The Healers say it was accidental magic -"

"_Accidental magic?_" Draco yelled. He didn't seem scared anymore. His eyes were bright with fury, and he stepped away from Hydrus. "Accidental magic? I'm not stupid. It's more than that. So much more. You're not telling me something, Hydrus. Alright then, keep your secrets. But the people are whispering. They think you're a psycho. Are you a psycho? I suppose I won't be sticking around to find out."

Draco turned, and his robes were sent into a maddening swirl as he ran away.

It took much will-power to not cry, and it took even more to return back to the Great Hall with his chin raised high and a smile on his face. And it took an inhuman strength to walk over to Herbology, meeting all of the silent, unspoken jeers with apathy.

__(O.O)__

On his way to Charms from Potions, a group of fourth-year Hufflepuffs rounded the corner.

"Oh, look at that," one of them said. "It's the Dark Lord Malfoy."

"Thought you could fool everyone by bringing in that troll, didn't you?"

"And save a poor little Gryffindor firstie, all the while, eh?"

"Careful, Hughes. He might use his troll-charming abilities on you."

_Is that what they thought happened? _Hydrus asked himself moodily. His hands clenched and unclenched, feeling the ghastly pain race through his arm. _I wish it was. Then maybe Hermione wouldn't be in the Hospital Wing right now._

There were many people like them, who stopped him in the hallways to toss little, snide, disdainful comments. And for every person who frowned in retort, there were another two that smirked cruelly.

When Hydrus was finishing the last bits of his essay in the far corners of the library, hiding from everyone in the school, Hannah Abbott walked towards him with red, puffy eyes and tears marbling her cheeks.

"Oh," he said awkwardly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so, so sorry."

"It's alright," he told her mechanically. Too many people had begged his forgiveness today. It was beginning to feel irritating.

"No it's not," she insisted, as more tears poured from her eyes. "All of Hufflepuff hated you, and I still think they do. But it's not your fault, is it? You really tried to make things right, and that's so kind and noble of you and - oh, it should be _you_ in Hufflepuff or Gryffindor, not the bloody hypocrites in my year."

He tapped his fingers awkwardly, wondering if this was when a girl needed to be hugged. Aldebaran had told him it was whenever they were in distress, and especially when more than two tears had fallen out of both their eyes. Sooner, if this person was of intimate relation. Hydrus got up slowly, and feeling very uncomfortable, wrapped his arms around her. "Well," he said. "I don't know how much my extremist parents would appreciate that."

Hannah Abbott laughed through her tears, and when Hydrus disentangled himself from her grasp, she sat down beside him.

"Thank you," she told him solemnly. "I wish there were more people like you out there. And I know I must be sounding like a mess - and I know I am, and oh -"

Another rain of tears fell down her cheeks.

"You don't sound stupid," Hydrus lied. "So… uh -"

"Just - thank you," Hannah Abbott said. "If there's anything you need, I'll - I'll be here."

"Err… alright."

She fled after that, with a rueful, tear-stained smile on her lips.

He felt a bit better after that for some reason, even though her crying had gotten wet splotches all over his Charms assignment.

Perhaps not everyone hated him in this wretched school. The thought brought a warm feeling, that made him want to throw his head back and laugh.

Perhaps Hermione would even want to see him.

Going back to the Hospital Wing was awkward, especially since he had insulted Madame Pomfrey the last time he was there. But when she saw him, her weathered face broke into a smile, and she peppered him with incessant questions as she led him to Hermione.

"She's awake, yes," the matron said. "And she's been asking for you."

That was good.

Hydrus felt happiness flutter through him.

Hermione was propped up with a pillow, and straddling a thick text on her lap.

"You look…"

He tried to grope for words, but nothing seemed to come. She looked a little tired, with purplish bags underneath her eyes… but her face… it had only seemed to get worse.

Flesh, red and pink and brown, all scarred and broken, and they snaked across her soft features. He felt terrible, watching the soft smile die on her face. "You look alive."

"But I can't be very pretty," Hermione said desolately.

"Yes… well…" Hydrus gestured with his hands awkwardly. He did not know what to say. It was his fault the burns had ripped across her face like that. His fault, his fault, his fault, and Hermione still could look him in the eye and seek his reassurance.

"I shouldn't be crying about this, I know. It's stupid." Hermione tried to smile at him. "I never got to thank you. For saving my life."

"Well," he said awkwardly. "You did now."

"I just don't understand," she told him. "How you did it. A young boy who defeated a mountain troll. I don't understand. I don't understand."

Hydrus looked at his hands, and he could almost feel the ghostly pain race up his arms. "I don't either," he lied. "No one does."

"But there was a fire," Hermione continued, oblivious to his mounting anxiety. Her hands shifted across her face. "A fire, I think. That's why my face… that's why it's burned. But how?"

"The how isn't important, so long as you're safe."

"Yes but - did you do it, Hydrus?"

"Me?" he squeaked.

He was a horrible liar.

"It was you, wasn't it?" Hermione didn't wait for an answer. "But that doesn't make much _sense_… you're a first-year… unless… no I _read Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_, and trolls don't have fire powers…" She stopped suddenly. "It was you. How, Hydrus?"

"I…" he sputtered. "I wish I knew."

"Well," Hermione frowned, "didn't the Healers look into that?"

"They did."

"And?" she said impatiently.

"Accidental magic."

Hermione's eyes were wide as cauldrons. "Woah… you're a powerful wizard, then."

Hydrus wished it were true. "I guess I am."

When he left, she grabbed his hand. "Thank you, Hydrus. Not many people… not many people have ever risked so much for me… especially, well -" she flushed red, "- people at school. So thank you. You… you saved my life."

He squeezed her hand.

Hydrus did his best to avoid the crowd during dinner, going early and gathering as many foods as he could on a golden plate before hurrying out of the hall. Professor McGonagall saw him, he was certain, but when he met her eyes, she nodded her chin sadly, as if to say, _if you must_. Hydrus gave her a shaky smile and slipped out of the hall.

He finished his dinner in an abandoned classroom, watching the Ravenclaw Quidditch team practice in the distance.

Roger Davies, Quidditch Captain of the Ravenclaw team, ended their practice just as Hydrus finished his last bit of lamprey pie. When they were gone, he walked around the pitch, feeling the cold wind whip his face.

It had been two days since he had come back from Hogwarts, yet still, he could not seem to find just what sort of stone it was that the voice in the back of his head wanted.

The library had many, many books in it, and Madame Pince had glared at him when he asked for "a book about stones". But perhaps he deserved it. The shelves and old texts had been replaced, but with no lack of anger on the librarian's part.

He spent the rest of that evening pouring over books about rocks and stones, and learning all sorts of useless bits of information about garnets and emeralds and marble.

Perhaps he didn't even need to know what sort of stupid rock it was. Perhaps it was just a necklace of diamonds, and the horrible red eyes was much too prideful to tell him so. Perhaps Hydrus could even waltz into the third floor corridor, unprepared as he was, and get over with it. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

And suddenly, as he passed by a forgotten Quaffle that lay in the dirt, Hydrus came to an abrupt realization that - there was a reason why Professor Dumbledore had made such a great announcement to all the students.

But what was it?

_It's a trap, _he thought to himself. _It's a trap, but for who?_

Once, once upon a time, during the beginning of the First Wizarding War, recruiting for the Dark Lord had started at Hogwarts itself.

Hydrus realized, with great trepidation, that he did not know the Slytherins in his dorm as well as he should have. He picked up the Quaffle lying in the dirt and set off back inside, meeting Mrs Norris on the way in. She hissed at him angrily, and stalked off.

Was it past curfew already?

He hurried back into the common room.

The next day, he swept through the student records and found every person with a pureblood last name, but none were significant. There was Shafiq, Kama, Sayre, Tripe, Tremblay and some other minor families.

Each had done alright on their OWL's, nothing too exceptional.

It was not one of them, then.

It was a waste of a lunch period, and as he hurried off to Herbology, Hydrus wondered if it was one of the professors who were after this bejeweled diamond necklace.

He spent the evening in his regular corner of the library, with a thick volume in front of him, titled _The Total and Complete List of All Hogwarts Professors. _

It was a boring, thick, self-updating text written in shimmering gold-black ink (if that was even a colour), and had the name of every Hogwarts professor to ever teach.

There was the normal _Professor McGonagall, Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick, Professor Snape, Professor Sinistra_ \- the boring professors who had taught at the magical institution for many, many years and were no more likely to want to steal a diamond necklace this year, than, say, five years from now.

But as he read through the last few pages of the book, he realized that _all_ of the faculty had been there for more than five years.

Well, that was another waste of some more freetime.

Running a frustrated hand through his dark hair, he said aloud, "Who could possibly want this diamond necklace so bad?"

And just like that, the red eyes were back.

"_It's more than a mere _necklace_."_

Hydrus felt a retort on his lips. "Is it a ring, then?"

"_Shut up, you idiot. It is no more relevant than the traps hiding it."_

"Pardon?"

"_Quit wasting your time gawking at books. The plan has been made, and you look like a wanker, spending all your time reading."_

"Well then," he said angrily, forgetting for a moment, just how dangerous that voice could be. "What do you want me to do?"

"_Find Professor Quirrell."_

"Him?"

"_Are you both deaf _and _stupid?"_

"No!" he thundered, a little too loudly. Quieter, he continued, "But what for?"

"_Gain his trust. I have a certain liking for this man."_

"Him?"

"_He set the troll into the school."_

Hydrus frowned and stood slowly. "How do you know?"

"_Are you questioning my words?"_

His hands were warming quickly.

Quickly, he closed the book and put it right back where he found it. His fingers were coated in a thin layer of dust when he left the library.

For a long while, he wandered the hallways of the school, feeling the cold wind rustle his hair. Where would a queer, snivelling, garlic-smelling professor be, on a school night?

"Professor Flitwick!" he called, running across the hallway. Some students gave him awkward looks, and others shied away, as if he were a parasite. "I need to find Professor Quirrell."

Professor Flitwick stopped in mid-step, and turned his small head. "He'll be in his office, I think."

"Er, yes," he said. "But where is that -?"

"Second floor, Mister Malfoy. Beside the statue of Garold the Gryffin."

"Of course." Hydrus felt increasingly stupid. "Thank you, sir."

He was marching up a flight of stairs, and knocking on the door not-too-long after, holding his breath and hearing a thousand thoughts race through his head. What was he to tell Professor Quirrell? That he needed help with the homework on Goblins? It sounded stupid enough in his head.

The door opened all by itself, and suddenly, he was standing in front of the man, with a blank, unaware look upon his face.

There was that feeling again - a sort of light-headed pain in his forehead that made him wince.

"M-m-ister Malfoy," he said. "I-i-s there a-a-ny th-th-ing I can h-h-elp you with?"

"I…" he paused. "I… just…"

Professor Quirrell looked so very confused and kindly and trustable at that moment, that Hydrus blurted the first thing that came to mind.

"My father always told me how great you were." It sounded so much like a lie. "I mean - that sounds stupid, but he's always told me how… radical your views were…"

"H-h-e is kind to s-s-ay so."

"He once told me -" _he once told me that there was no such a greater stuttering fool than you_, "- that your intellect surpassed any other professor at Hogwarts."

"D-d-id he really?"

"Yes," Hydrus forced himself to say, even though his words sounded heavy and bitter on his tongue. "He also once said that…" _Think, you idiot_. "He once said that there was no other man out there who knew the Dark Arts better than you."

However much true it might be, Professor Quirrell had served as the muggle studies professor for years, if that old book meant anything.

He had less than seven months left on this job, if the curse was true.

"Y-Y-our father is very k-k-ind, Mister Malfoy."

"And so I was wondering… if you could teach me… some things…"

Hydrus wanted to kick himself. That was a foolish thing to say. Foolish, foolish, foolish. Professor Quirrell would probably go prattling off to Dumbledore…

If the professor thought to do the same, he gave no show of thinking so.

"Apprenticeships are normally done during a student's last year at Hogwarts," he said carefully. "And it requires diligent study and patience above all."

Hydrus wondered just how deep a hole he could dig himself into.

He wanted to say _no thank you_, and bolt right through the door, but Professor Quirrell was looking at him very intently, and he forced himself to stand still. "I can do it. I can."

"You're a first-year."

"I'm a smart one," Hydrus said, not knowing where his words were coming from. "I can do it."

"Can you?"

"Yes."

Professor Quirrell smiled a horrible, demeaning, insane smile, and suddenly, the smell of garlic didn't seem as strong, and his purple turban glowed. "Good. I like dedication. Come see me, Mister Malfoy, next week, Thursday, at seven o'clock."

"Yes sir," he said.

And as he left, Professor Quirrell turned his head and stared at him with unmoving eyes. "No one must know, Mister Malfoy. No one."

"Of course, sir."

Hydrus left the room feeling a horrible sense of queasiness, as if something terribly wrong had happened, but he did not know what.

That night, as he went to bed listening to the cacophony of snores in his dorm, Hydrus realized that Professor Quirrell hadn't stuttered. Not one word, and not one bit.

He shivered, and it wasn't from the cold.

* * *

**A/N:**

**This has been one hectic week for the world, and I know this isn't a blog - but to everyone out there, stay safe and stay strong. It will get worse before it gets better.**

**On a brighter note, I can definitely say that the story will start picking up from here. Next week will be interesting ;)**

**Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read my story, and see you all next week!**

**Cheers.**


	14. Chapter 14

Hermione's face was still a mess of ragged burnt skin. When she smiled, the burns would crinkle, and sometimes, blood would fall from the cracks and dribble onto her parchment.

Now, more than ever, Hydrus was some sort of morbid wonder, a wonder boy that some thought a monster, and others, a monster with a good heart.

Even Professor Dumbledore adjusted his half-moon spectacles and preened his watery blue eyes upon Hydrus.

"It is quite curious what you have done."

_Don't look at me like that. You think I'm a monster. Don't preach me for my noble actions. It would be a lie, and you swore to never lie when you took the post of Supreme Mugwump._

"Hermione was a friend," he told him quietly. "And I would do what I did a thousand times over if it meant seeing her alive."

"Whatever it was that you did." Through his thick beard, Professor Dumbledore smiled, and he looked grandfatherly, sitting with his hands clasped together in his office, a thousand magical trinkets buzzing behind him in cabinets.

Hydrus did not like his tone. "Whatever it was I did."

"Magic takes place through many different forms, and some are more obvious than others." Professor Dumbledore leaned forward. "May I take your hand?"

_No you can't._

Hydrus gave it to him.

"Your hands… soft and supple as silk, yet filled with so much magical potential… it is extraordinary what you have done."

His voice was shaky when he spoke. "Me?"

"It is rare that children show such aptitude for wandless magic."

"You…" _Remember your manners_. "You are very kind, sir."

"Not kind, dear boy. Only truthful." Professor Dumbledore gave a small laugh, but sombered quickly. "You must understand what sort of responsibility this entails."

"I know, sir."

_I know very well. I know so very, very well._

"You are a mature boy, Hydrus, if you do permit me to call you so. It is rare that such maturity is found in those with a childhood such as yours."

He took a deep breath, and tried to imagine Aldebaran Rowle, teaching him to converse in the flowery language of the Lords. "Jewels, gold and wonders I might have had, but they were naught but a part of my childhood, sir. My parents were insistent that I understand both sides of a coin."

That was only partly a lie.

"And I am glad for that. But still, a power as raw as yours needs to be honed."

_No._ "Sir…" He took back his hand and stared at it.

"Speak freely, Hydrus."

"You want to teach me magic."

Professor Dumbledore adjusted his spectacles and smiled. "I do."

"My parents won't appreciate it," he told him, groping for a lie.

"But you are not your parents. You look further on than prejudice and history, don't you? You see further than hate and grudges and curses."

_But no amount of practice will ever rid me of those eyes, those bright red eyes…_

When Hydrus did not respond in a long time, Professor Dumbledore pushed on. "You don't want to hurt anyone ever again, do you?"

"No."

"Then the path is clear."

_No, no, no, no, no._

"I…" _You already have Professor Quirrell. You already have a puppeteer, no _two _puppeteers, each fighting for control of that invisible string. You can't have a third._

"_Accept,_" the red eyes urged. They were back, and dark as blood. "_ACCEPT!"_

Hydrus shuddered, and clenched his hands. Professor Dumbledore looked at him oddly. "I will do it."

He felt it again - a sort of trickling in his head, cold as ice that snaked through his mind.

"Then it's settled," Professor Dumbledore said softly. "In a week's time, I'll send you a scroll. Thank you for your time, Hydrus."

And with a much chillier atmosphere in the room than before, Hydrus walked out the door, feeling more than two eyes staring at his back. 

__(O.O)__

That week, someone split his bag open with a scarily well-placed _diffindo_ charm. A mess of ink had exploded at his feet, and as he fished out scrolls of parchment from the disorder, Hydrus knew he would have to redo all his essays.

It was some Hufflepuff fourth-year, with a pompous gait and hideous smirk.

"And they call themselves just," Hermione spat angrily.

Hydrus shrugged and bent to pick up what little he could salvage of his three-feet long Defense Against the Dark Arts essay. "Yes, well. Tell Quirrell I'll be late, won't you?"

She bit her lip. "And what about that Hufflepuff?"

"What about him?"

"He wronged you!"

"Along with half the school."

"All of them deserve justice!"

"They will," Hydrus told her. He did not know why he felt so calm. "When I become Lord Black, and they'll grovel at my feet for mercy."

Hermione huffed and muttered, "_Wizards_," under her breath, before she hurried away.

His hands were black and it was a good thing his robes were just as dark as his ink, for cleaning up the mess proved a long and difficult task. It took half the period, and when he opened the door to his class, Professor Quirrell looked up from where he stood.

Hydrus smelt the garlic, and for once, it seemed his professor had a backbone.

"M-M-ister Malfoy," he said. "You're late."

"Sorry, sir."

"I b-b-elieve this warrants a detention. To-n-n-ight, s-s-even o'clock, sharp. And d-d-don't be late."

It sounded odd, hearing someone who stuttered and trip over his every word speak with such authority. Weasley gave him a smirk, Hermione bit her lip once more, Daphne tried for a smile, and Draco would not look at him.

Hydrus tried to open his mouth in protest, but remembered what Professor Quirrell had once told him and closed his eyes, feeling the terrible ashy face stare at him in the darkness of his mind.

Quietly, though seething with anger, he took in the last empty desk, at the very back, and beside Seamus Finnigan, who looked just about ready to throttle him.

He did not eat dinner that night. His stomach was in a roil, bubbling and churning, and he felt light-headed.

When Hermione tried to talk to him, he stayed quiet and humm'ed and haw'ed, but said no more.

"Well, I would be nervous too, if I had to go to detention. That was quite rotten of him, knowing just what horrible things that _Hufflepuff _did to you. It's not _fair_. You know, if this were a muggle system, you would be allowed to report any abuses of power, and appeal things like detentions. Do you suspect the Headmaster would listen to your pleas?"

_Him? _Hydrus wanted to scoff. _That old codger turns blind to Slytherin qualms._

He told her that.

"He's the Headmaster for a reason," Hermione insisted. "That sounds like a load of - a load of - _waffle!_"

"Call it bullshit, if you'd like -" she gasped at the curse, "- but when the troll came into the school, Professor Dumbledore told all the students to go back to their dorms, _despite _the very fact that our dorms are in the dungeons."

"But he couldn't have known the troll was in the dungeon -"

"Quirrell told him."

"Oh," Hermione said lightly. "But… but it could have been a mistake… or - or maybe he was just so stressed -"

"The man's a hundred fifty, going on three thousand. If stress gets to him so easily, I don't think he'd hold all these positions in Wizarding Politics."

"That… that…" Hermione faltered and bit her lip. "That can't be right."

"Slytherins are evil," he told her, feeling a deep sort of bitterness in his mouth. "Dumbledore's the leader of the light. What do you think?"

"I…"

"Listen," Hydrus said, "it's almost seven, so I'll need… I'll need to go."

"Don't be nervous," Hermione told him bracingly. "Back in primary school, your first detention wouldn't show up on your permanent track record."

"Yes... well…" Hydrus wondered what sort of confidence levels a person needed to have to worry about something as stupid as a 'track record'. He wished his fears were as simple as that. "Bye."

Hermione caught him on his way out of the library, and squeezed him tight. "Don't worry. I'll make sure to tell Professor McGonagall about what happened."

"Don't bother," he told her. "She's every bit as tainted as Dumbledore."

She paused to swat his shoulder, and wished him good luck one last time.

He was five minutes late for detention, and Professor Quirrell waited for him outside his office.

"You're late, Mister Malfoy."

Without another word, he began walking down the hallway.

They went up stairs, past statues of gargoyles that Hydrus could have sworn he had never before seen. His legs had begun to ache when Professor Quirrell stopped in a desolate corridor, with nothing but a tapestry to keep them company. He walked past it once, twice, then thrice, and then, just like that, a great silver door appeared.

The room was big, much taller and higher than the ceiling had ever been in the hallway. Candles glowed bright yellow in the room, and shadows pooled in the corner, thick and dark. Hydrus focused on that.

"The Dark Arts," Professor Quirrell said quietly, "is a dangerous matter. It has quite the bad reputation, but its spells are more-often-than-not, a thousand times more powerful. You are right to lust after such capacity. It will suit you well, when you reach your majority. Come, Hydrus, and take a seat, and tell me of your supposed pyrokinesis."

Behind his legs, a great armchair appeared, and when he sat down, a platter full of tea cups and bone china and all sorts of crumpets appeared.

"My pyrokinesis, sir?"

"Pyrokinesis," he agreed. "It means 'to _control fire with your mind'._"

Hydrus' heart had crept to his throat. "I have… I have no such ability…"

"Do not play the fool with me. Lies do not suit you."

The candles filled the room with heat and exotic-smelling incense. It was too hot, and it smelled too sweet. Sweat beaded down his forehead, and his hands were uncomfortably sticky. "Sir… I -"

"The library was not your work, then? Nor the troll? Perhaps you don't have perfect control over fire, but fire listens to you with rapt ears. It is a wild beast, I am told. It can listen, but its will is forever its own."

_And my own will? I have none of that. Even now, I can feel the dark red eyes, pouring through my mind, watching all that I see, hearing all that I hear, and scheming, pulling on twine and string, making me tumble and twirl and spin to the tune of a madman._

"The fire killed Susan," Hydrus said quietly. "And it killed the troll."

"So you understand, then. Fire can be used to do both good and evil."

_You are not the fool my father thought you were. You are a thousand times more cunning._

And as Hydrus watched him stare into the tallow candles, he felt a sudden chill course through him. _It is not a Slytherin seventh-year that means to steal this supposed stone. It is _you_._

His hands clenched the arm rests, and he felt a panic unlike anything in the world spread through him. "I don't want to hurt anyone," he told the monster who sat in front of him. "I want to help others. I want to…" _I want to be left alone._

"You fear your greatest blessing," Professor Quirrell tittered. "A shame."

Hydrus had nothing to say to that.

"You avoid looking at the candles," he continued, "and you flinch whenever you see the sun. You are terrified of light and fire, and all the great advantages it bestows. But I could teach you how to control the flames. I could teach you how to roast people with nought but the barest thought. I could teach you how to burn your opposition, how to roast any that wish you harm."

"You said fire listens to no one."

"And so do people, yet they fall in line regardless."

If he could control the fires, then… then…

_But he offers to teach you… why?_

"You mean to do me a great favour, and ask me nothing in return."

"Now, now, nothing of that sort. I need something from you, something incredible and invaluable."

He could feel the red eyes, twitching with impatience.

"If you want gold," Hydrus said slowly, "then all you have to do is tell me."

"More than that. Much more."

"Your service might prove to be a fraud. Why should I pay you anything?"

"Gold, silver, gems… all of those are ponderous little things. No, I shall not want any of that. My payment will be given in years time. Plenty enough to prove that my training… has merit." Hydrus did not like the way his eye twitched. "But for now, all I ask is your support."

"My support?"

"Your support," he agreed.

"Political? Or -"

"Does it matter? I do not ask that you make an open declaration. Only that you back me in the shadows. That much you can do, am I wrong?"

_This monster wants the stone. He wants it for something, whether to sell, to admire, to own… Would I be wrong to give my backing? Would I be wrong to support this woefully wrong endeavour?_

It was hard to sit on this throne of power and gold. There was so much he could do, but so little that would be considered _right_.

_Belvina Black has always made it clear that the Black family fortune is great because its family founders never did the ordinary. She never… she never said what the ordinary was._

"I need… I need… time…"

"And tell Belvina Black? Tell Andromeda Black? I think not."

"I… I -" He pretended there was a crown on his head. No, not a crown. A circlet of emerald and onyx, wrought in bronze and framed in silver. The heads of House Black had worn that crown for centuries when making unfavourable decisions. Lady Belvina Black would have worn it, but not today. No. Today, Hydrus was Lord Black. He would set his own terms. "Permanent confidentiality," he told Professor Quirrell. His voice was firm, but soft. The voice of a proper Lord. "I want a contract written up. No loopholes, no open ends. Signed in blood, and twenty perfect of the profit."

"You shall receive so much more than a mere _twenty_ percent. Oh, no. You shall receive much more from my master."

"And your master," said Hydrus. "Who is he?"

"Trust needs to be earned, Hydrus. In time, you shall know."

_This is a bad, bad, idea. But if I… but if it means that I will never hurt anyone again, then I shall do so. I shall do so, and I shall profit from this and follow the last Lord Black as a prominent political figure with a finger in every pie._

"Alright," he said. "I'll do it." 

__(O.O)__

"I spoke to Professor McGonagall," Hermione told him, when he had finally come out of the Room of Requirement, shaking and alive with fear. "She said she'd look into it. Don't look so pale, Hydrus. I'm sure the proper apologies will be made soon enough."

He wished his fears were as simple as that. A smile graced his lip, and Hydrus wished the world were as mundane as that. Hermione's innocence was a never-ending up-hill struggle to combat… _and she's your last friend at this school_.

Even Daphne's smiles were beginning to feel like a solemn duty. She was bound by contract to always follow her betrothed and forever support his endeavours… but sometimes, Hydrus wondered just how much he disgusted her.

Hermione reached for his wrist. "Come. We still need to quiz each other for the up-coming Herbology quiz."

But Hydrus did not come with her.

"Does it ever freak you out?"

"The weekly quizzes? Of course! There's just so much to remember… all these properties and -"

"I mean about me." His voice sounded so solemn that it scared him.

"You?"

"Me," he agreed.

"You don't…" And slowly, her hand snaked along her face to brush soft fingers against the trail of burns. "You did what had to be done. Whatever you did… It was terrifying. I still…" She looked down. "I still have nightmares about it. But what you did was for a noble cause, and… it was scary… but what you did… you would never do against me."

Hermione smiled at him.

For the first time in a long while, he went to eat dinner in the Great Hall.

"Hydrus," Daphne said. She looked up from her mashed potatoes and stood up. With practiced grace, she wiped her lips and pressed both against his cheeks. They tasted of duty and they tasted of fear. Her lips were trembling, and she jerked away as quick as she came.

"Daphne," he said quietly. For a moment, he stepped back and looked at her in the eyes.

Merlin… it had been so long since the last time they sat together and just _talked_. But looking at her now, she was shaking. Her hand was spasming when she sat down, and her fork shook so bad the mashed potatoes almost slid off.

In silence, Hydrus sat down opposite to her, as Blaise Zabini and Alessandro Esposito moved quickly and silently to make space for him.

One by one, they left the table, until it was only Hydrus who sat for several seats, spearing a bit of pie all alone.

The taste was scarily bitter.

He left the table, with what little happiness he felt a mess of cinders in his mouth. 

__(O.O)__

"Look into the candle," Professor Quirrell commanded.

Hydrus forced himself to keep his eyes open. The flame was orange and red, twisting upon itself, and lit the room with its burning light. His insides still squirmed when he looked at bright things for too long.

The room was dark, and lit by nothing save for the tallow candle, dripping with hot, sticky wax.

"What do you see in those flames?"

_Death_. _Destruction. _

"Light."

"Don't lie to me, Hydrus."

"I see something bright."

"Something bright. Something bright that can be used to cause death, am I wrong?"

"No," he said quietly.

"Every witch and wizard has the potential to do good and bad. Now let me ask you, Hydrus Malfoy. What will you do with your power?"

He thought long and hard about that question. "What is right."

"What is right, is not always what is good. You are learning."

Hydrus felt acid trickle down his throat.

"A knife can be used to kill, but it can also be used to preserve. A spell is not good or bad, but rather in a state of both, and only dependent on the will of the caster. Open your hands, Hydrus. I want you to watch your flames."

Slowly, he unclenched his hands.

He was becoming better at it.

_Fire_, he thought. _I need fire. Fire, fire, fire, fiery, hot fire._

The flames were hot - Hydrus could feel them, but not entirely. The heat rolled off of his hands, and it made him sweat, but his hands did not feel the pain.

They tingled with feeling.

"Open your eyes," Professor Quirrell told him.

And he did. They cracked open at first, squinting at the harsh, bright light. It was as orange and yellow as the candle, and perhaps even brighter, but something about it made Hydrus want to coil away. There was a sort of sinister darkness to it, and it terrified him much more than he could say.

"Close your fist, Hydrus."

He did, slowly, watching as the flames raced across his knuckles and fingers.

"Pretend you're throwing a ball," Professor Quirrell said. His face came perilously close to the fire. His sharp features were now as soft and as ever-changing as the flames, glowing a mellow orange.

"A ball?" Hydrus managed to grit out. A ball… what did it mean to throw a ball… ?

He could not think, not with the fire so close to the wooden table… and to throw it…

"You play Quidditch, don't you?"

"I -"

"Pretend you're throwing a Quaffle."

"The flames," he gasped. "They'll eat the walls, and they'll burn them. You're asking me to set the school of fire… I can't - I won't. I -"

He tried to slap his palms together, tried to quench the flames, but he was only adding more air, and it quadrupled in size. The blaze stretched almost to the ceiling, and the stream of fire wavered with every slap against his hand.

"Stop that," Professor Quirrell commanded.

He only smashed his hands harder.

And suddenly, his hand was grasping Hydrus' wrist, squeezing it strong and hard.

"Stop that, you foolish idiot."

"Is that what you meant when you wanted my backing?"

Professor Quirrell frowned. "Pardon?"

"You want me to burn down the school."

"That… is a horribly short-sighted plan."

"So… you don't mean to do that?"

"If you truly are as hot-headed as that, then you are a thousand times more stupid than I thought."

"I'm not stupid," Hydrus said hotly. For a moment, he forgot about his hands.

"No, you're only incredibly dim."

"_I am not!_"

And the flames were growing, stretching, wider and wider, until they were as thick as bludgers, and tickled the ceiling.

"Your anger fuels the flames a thousand times better than the air." Professor Quirrell smiled. "Throw the flames, as you might throw a ball."

He tried to think of a quaffle, and pretended the flames in his hand were a ball.

With a grunt, and a shudder of fear that coursed through him, a great ball of fire burst from his right hand, and it exploded with a resonating _boom_ against the wall.

For a moment, the room was as bright as the sun, and the white walls were golden. The sheer heat singed his hair, and a thousand different pieces of shrapnel burst from the wall.

Quick as a viper, Professor Quirrell twisted his wrist, and a paper-thin shield burst from his wand. It was purple where the fire was yellow, and where an explosion of wood and metal hit the thing, it sizzled, just as a force field might do.

Without a word, Professor Quirrell reached inside his cloak and produced a vial of a dark purple liquid. He pulled out the stopper and dribbled no more than a drop onto each of Hydrus' hands.

At once, the flames began to sizzle, and soon, there was nothing but smoke that came from his hands.

Professor Quirrell had never used that before.

Normally, they would wait for long swathes of time, as Hydrus did his absolute best to coerce the flames into disappearing. The first time, they had to wait two-and-a-half hours before the last embers turned to smoke.

"That thing you used," he said, looking at the dark purple thing. "What is it?"

"Dumbledore had Snape brew this a fortnite past."

"And he gave some to you?"

As Hydrus watched the faint flicker of a smirk ghost his face, he knew whatever dark thing inside of that vial was not given to him by Professor Dumbledore.

"Yes, Hydrus," he said. "Yes, I did steal it. From his little cupboard. Not even locked, that naive fool." Professor Quirrell never looked more terrible. "By the way, when were you ever planning to tell me about Dumbledore?"

"Sir?"

"You need to learn Occlumency," he said.

"You brought the troll into the school."

"Well, what can I say?"

"And you want the stone."

"A short-term goal."

He felt his heart pound harder and harder. "Who is your master?"

"Irrelevant to the discussion at hand." Professor Quirrell slipped the vial back into his cloak. "I need to wipe your memory."

"No. Absolutely _not_."

"Dumbledore isn't concerned about your well-being when he offers that one-on-one time with you." Hydrus figured as much. "He's probing your mind."

His resolve weakened. "But that's… that's a breach of Ancient Law…"

"It is," he agreed. "Though it can be argued that without proof, any claims you put up against him are the wailings of a bigoted pureblood eleven-year-old."

Hydrus flushed. "I wasn't going to."

"Of course not. When you leave, I'll have to lock your memory somehow."

"Sir," he said slowly, "if Professor Dumbledore really is reading my mind, then he knows about -" Hydrus gestured awkwardly at the two of them "- this."

"He does," Professor Quirrell agreed. "But as I said earlier, accusations without proof are as useful as a pyrokinetic without training."

"Sir?"

"Dumbledore cannot do anything about us. In the meantime, I will need to see your wrist. The left one."

Slowly, Hydrus gave him his hand.

"Your bangle," he said. "Very nice work."

It wasn't so much a bracelet than a piece of metal welded into his skin. Green, black, silver, blue, red - a hundred different hues that swirled on a strip of platinum, burned onto his wrist. The Black Family never did things without extravagance.

Sometimes, his left wrist would feel abnormally stiff. Other times, before the skin had fully healed, it burned.

Hydrus had never slept worse than then.

"_Power does not come without pain. Remember that when you ascend to Lordship."_

"Most heir rings will have enchantments to protect the heir. I'm sure Belvina Black would have made sure you were well-protected." Professor Quirrell tapped his wand once, then twice onto the bracelet. "Well, we're done for today. Get going, before that cat Filch has finds you." 

__(O.O)__

"Daphne," he said desperately.

She stopped in the hallway, and turned around. For a moment, it seemed as if everything would be alright. But then she lifted her eyes to him, and Hydrus had never seen something so dead in the world.

Her eyes were blue, the colour of a cloudless sky on a summer morning. But now they were the choppy waves of a sea, watery and waiting for tears to spill out.

"Hydrus," she said.

The hallway was empty. That was good. He could not stand feeling her shake against his cheek one more time.

"Are you… ?"

"I'm doing alright. You?"

Everything she said was forced, and her voice was dull and lifeless.

Aldebaran once taught him to comfort a crying girl by "wrapping her with your arms".

_But how do I do that, when that very girl fears my presence?_

"I hope you feel better," he told her.

Daphne looked at him, with her dead blue eyes.

_She doesn't believe me. _

"Thank you."

* * *

**A/N:**

**Thank you so much to everyone who took the time to read my story!**

**Special thanks to Chabluechoco for pointing out some key issues with my writing. Don't worry - this _definitely_ won't be a harem fic, and after rereading some of the chapters... yikes my math class is probably more interesting than her. As it currently stands, the next few chapters should include some more of her, but she was never meant to be a 'central' character.**

**If any of you guys have some suggestions/tips/feedback/criticism you'd like to tell me, I'm always open.**

**See you guys next week!**

**Cheers.**


	15. Chapter 15

Every evening he crept along the gloomy expanse of the forbidden forest, through bushes and trees and pebbles and rocks, past Hagrid's hut and past his growling dog, and about twenty yards into the serene woods.

"_It will look suspicious if a Slytherin dares venture so close to the Gryffindor Common Room_," Professor Quirrell said. "_So no, do not come and practice in the Come-And-Go Room. Elsewhere. Deep in the Forbidden Forest, or in an abandoned classroom. Somewhere where none can see you."_

For two days, he had practiced in a dusty room, until Mrs Norris the horrible cat, had found him crouched over his palms. It hadn't been past curfew, but regardless, Hydrus walked on elsewhere.

The wind blew swift and cold, and the heavy cloak Narcissa had gifted him, lined with fox fur and dark as midnight, finally proved its purposes. The forest was filled with tall trunks that stretched to the sky, filled with roots and curious plants that were as wild as those in the greenhouse.

Everyone at Hogwarts agreed that the Forbidden Forest was a nesting ground for savage beasts and horrible nightmares, but Hydrus found none of that. Care of Magical Creatures would not be until third year, but he was quite sure there was nothing more terrifying inside the forest but one's imagination.

Once, he had found a silvery unicorn, but she ran away before Hydrus could come close. Other than that, the forest was unbelievably ordinary.

There was an alcove, however, a niche in a facade of rock and dirt, that stopped the light from his flames from showing.

He made it his little hideout, and would sit in the darkness, on a bed of autumn leaves, clenching and unclenching his palms.

"_Imagine you are a candle,"_ Professor Quirrell told him. "_Holding a bright flame with your palms. Still, unmoving, and forever holding the light. Focus on that."_

So Hydrus did that. He sat still, and dared do no more than breathe.

He clenched, then unclenched his hands, and imagined what he feared the most.

The first time he had done so, there was no adrenaline to block out his fear, and there was no troll to distract him from the bright white light. He screamed the first time. He screamed and clawed at the ground, sending the carpet ablaze. Professor Quirrell had to witness all of that.

But he was getting better at it. His stomach would still be sent into a roll, but only twice he had puked.

Hydrus imagined the flames, a swirl of carnelian, red and gold. Hot, bright, and powerful.

He squeezed his eyes so tight that tears dribbled down his cheeks, but it was another minute before he felt the heat race across his palms.

The first time, he did not dare open his eyes. The heat, the burning heat - that alone was enough to send him balking. He was getting better at it, now. Sometimes, if he felt brave, Hydrus would squint at the twisting gems in his hand, but never for long.

His heart was pounding, as he felt the light kisses across his palms. Sweat was falling down his forehead, and when his tongue darted across his upper lip in concentration, he tasted salt. Whether it was from fear or determination, Hydrus could not say.

He held it for five minutes that day.

When he couldn't hold on for much longer, the world was gone, and when he opened his eyes once more, so were the flames.

"You're a monster," someone said.

And even though his head was spinning a mile a minute, Hydrus whipped it around and felt the world spin.

Draco Malfoy… with his soft blonde hair tousled from the wind, and the fringes of his robe coated with leaves stared at him, eyes bright with disgust.

He had not talked to his brother in so long…

"Draco," he whispered.

"On the train," Draco said. His voice was hoarse and scratched, and his hands trembled with accusations. "On the train, you whispered about _a stone_. I held your face in my hands when you winced in pain… and for a moment, I thought I saw something in your eyes. A flash of red, _evil_. I told myself I thought wrong. You may have been a Malfoy and heir to the Black family fortune, but you were always the nobler one out of the both of us. I guess not."

_He's going to tell people,_ Hydrus thought desperately. _He's going to tell everyone, and Quirrell will hate me._

"I'm still… I'm still your brother."

"Second cousin," Draco spat.

Hydrus could not understand. It was always his brother who smiled the most coyly, who whistled a darker tune, who laughed the most deviously when he did something wrong. It was forever and always his brother who took his Lordly duties with a stern, cold face, forever and always his brother who insisted that he be given the ring for the Heir Apparent before he turned eleven.

Surely, all of this dark magic would be nothing else?

"Our families are known for their dark magic," Hydrus tried to say. The words rang hollow in his throat.

"That was before," Draco insisted. His voice shook. "And you… you never liked Dark Magic."

"Magic is neither light nor dark," Hydrus heard himself say. "A knife can be used to harm, but it can also be used to preserve. The nature of a spell is independent of all, but the intentions of its caster."

"Daphne's scared of you," Draco told him. "She doesn't sleep at night, worried about just what her family will be forced to go through. Stop doing this, Hydrus. Please. If not for me, for her."

"No."

_I can't, Draco. I wish I could. But I can't._

_And I'm sorry._

__(O.O)__

The first flecks of snow fell in late November, under a slate sky.

"I think I'll be going home for the break," Hermione told him, as they walked across the lawn. "You'll be going too, I suspect."

Before, long, long ago, before the mess that Hogwarts had been, Hydrus would have scoffed at any other idea. Not even. He never would have even spoken to a muggle-born.

But now…

Narcissa would love him, forever and always. Lucius… Lucius would love him too, in his odd, twisted way.

Hydrus would forever appreciate that. But there was a difference between loving a person, and stalking him with pitying looks.

If he went home, then he would have to face Narcissa and Lucius and Belvina and all those other purebloods at the Christmas dinner and all those other parties in between. And there was Draco to think about… his dear, sweet brother who hated him - no _feared_ him. And Daphne… Merlin...

Hydrus could not look at her.

"If I stay," he said slowly, "how many people do you reckon will remain here?"

She stopped. "I don't know. I… I'll talk to my parents about staying, I think."

That would be nice. Much nicer than he could express. But Hermione had already suffered enough. "No. You go. Your parents are missing you."

"Christmas is about family," she insisted. "You can't just stay in the school all _alone_."

"I won't be alone," Hydrus told her. "I'll have books."

"I meant _people_," Hermione said.

"You read all the time."

"Christmas is more than just books. Come to the owlery with me, Hydrus."

"You don't have to -"

"I don't," she agreed. "But I want to."

As she wrote those letters, Hydrus had never felt so terrible and loved. 

__(O.O)__

"Tell me, Hydrus," Professor Dumbledore said amiably. "Are you a Chocolate Frog sort of person, or a Bernie Bott's Every Flavour Bean fan?"

"_He's offering those candies because they're laced with potions." _Professor Quirrell had sighed. "_Perhaps not something as potent as _Veritasium_, the truth potion, but other things. Compulsions and the like. Never take candies from strangers. Surely your parents taught you as much?"_

"None, to be honest, sir. I've been… I've been trying to eat healthier."

"It's not often a young man such as you refers to a muggle perspective when eating. I see that Hermione Granger truly has been a benefitting presence in your life."

"Er, of course."

"But of course, there are some things of interest I'd like to speak to you about." Professor Dumbledore brought out a quill from the drawers of his desk. "There's a second-year spell, called the Severing Charm, the incantation being _Diffindo_. I take it you've never attempted such a thing?"

"No." There was a pause. Too long. "Sir."

"Go on and give it a try, then. The hand motion is a simple flick, and I'm sure you'll be able to do it."

He felt his fingers twitch as he brought out his wand. For a moment, it was two months past, sitting in the dusty corner of a library, with sweet Susan Bones at his side.

"_Diffindo_," he whispered. An odd, trickly, wet feeling seeped through his head.

The feather was split in half, and Professor Dumbledor clapped his hands together happily. "That was marvelous."

And then he began talking. Talking about the theory of magic, of wands and all sorts of things. But no matter what he did, there was a sort of coldness in his head, water that trickled through his thoughts… going deeper and deeper…

As Professor Dumbledore continued to speak, Hydrus felt his thoughts drift away… drifting so very far away that all of it was a long blur of meaningless words, and his mind was drawn to the cold, cold water that drifted through his mind.

He felt it snake through his consciousness, and suddenly, very oddly, he was reliving every past memory, seeing Daphne and Draco and Hermione all flutter by his face. They came and went, came and went, until it was… until it was him and the red eyes. Bright, burning crimson, molten fire that shimmered in ashy darkness.

For a moment, they stared at each other; Hydrus, looking into his dark mind, and the red eyes looking back. Then the second was over, and he was back in the present, with Professor Dumbledore staring very oddly, very peculiarly at him.

"My dear boy," he said. "Are you feeling quite alright?"

Hydrus flushed. "I'm sorry sir."

He could not explain what had just happened. The cold, cold water was gone from his mind.

"I understand. The week has been long and filled with excitement. Perhaps we might continue on a later date?"

"Of course, sir."

Professor Dumbledore adjusted his crooked glasses and with his eyes blue as ice, staring so deep into Hydrus' soul, that he felt all of his secrets being plucked from his mind, one by one, until he was stripped bare.

_If you can read my secrets, then you know of those eyes, those terrible, horrible red eyes that pull invisible strings attached to my arms. If you can read my thoughts and see my memories, then you must know that it is Professor Quirrell who is trying to undermine you, that he serves a master, a great, terrible being who wants your stone. Your rock. He let the troll into the school. It was him. Him._

But if Professor Dumbledore showed any signs of hearing his desperate thoughts, he gave none.

"Have a good day, Hydrus," he said.

He left, feeling the red eyes brimming in his mind.

"_He knows," _it hissed. "_He KNOWS_." 

__(O.O)__

"I think I'll miss having the classes over the break," Hermione told him. They walked across the frost-bitten snow, past the frozen lake, and along the border of the Forbidden Forest, where snow had permanently coated the bare branches. "But I've heard that Christmas at Hogwarts is bound to be incredible. Oh, I've never had a Yuletide feast. Do you reckon that I'll have to wait until June to receive the gifts from my parents?"

"We'll see, I suppose."

He must've sounded very somber, for Hermione gave him her best attempt at a smile. "Don't look so stricken. I've written to my mum and dad and, well, this was meant to be a surprise, but, well -" she flushed bright red, "- I know you'll be sick of me by the time summer comes, but, well, I - I _thought_, that perhaps you could… you could…"

Hydrus smiled. "Come over?"

"Yes," she squeaked. "That."

He felt a giddy sort of happiness inside him. Much could change in six months, he knew, and the prospect of seeing his bestest friend once more brought a light-ness to him.

"I… I also know your parents don't… don't exactly like muggle-borns…"

"I'll make them understand," he vowed. "I'll make her understand how much you mean to me. She loves me more than Wizarding tradition." _I hope_.

Hermione bit her lip.

"Cheer up," Hydrus told her, trying desperately not to think of the time Narcissa balked at the idea of having a muggle-born visit him inside St. Mungo's. "I won't even have to tell her it's you. I'll just say it's some random friend of mine. She'll let me go, I think. And plus, the muggle world is great and vast. Imagine all the fun we'll have, riding on a car!"

"In," Hermione corrected, though giggling. "In a car. We're not on broomsticks."

But her laughter seemed to die, quickly as it came.

"What is it?"

Hydrus followed her gaze across the snowy white fields, and to a lone figure. She was far away, but he would know her soft blonde hair from halfway around the world. "It's Daphne," he said, feeling a tinge of sadness as he said those words.

"I know this is really none of my business -" Hermione shifted awkwardly, "- but, um, you are… you are…" she flushed a delicate shade of pink. "You're betrothed to her, aren't you?"

"I am," Hydrus agreed.

"So aren't you… you know… supposed to… spend time with her?"

"Betrothals were made as a surefire way to unite great houses through marriages. Nothing more nothing less. Daphne is… Daphne is a wonderful person, really. And she has… she has her stuff to take care of, I suppose…" Hydrus watched as his betrothed turned on her heel and walked in the opposite direction. "It's complicated."

"You looked happier when she was around."

_I _was _happier. _

"She's scared of me," Hydrus told her. He did not know why the words were tumbling out of his mouth like that. "She sees me, and she sees the reincarnation of Voldemort. Her family didn't take a side in the last Wizarding War. They paid a great price for that."

"You need to go talk to her."

"And terrify her even more? No. Daphne is dutiful. She will do what is required of her, and she will walk by my side no matter what. That is already more than I can ask for."

Hermione frowned. "Women have no voice in wizarding marriages."

"Only traditional ones. And only on paper."

"But she's terrified nonetheless."

"She is," Hydrus agreed sadly.

__(O.O)__

"You're not going back for Christmas break," Professor Quirrell said.

"No," he agreed.

And in silence, they began their exercises.

"Your flames are getting hotter," Professor Quirrell told him. "Open your eyes. No, don't do that atrocious thing where you squint. You're to be a Lord. Either you open them great and wide as a proper wizard, or you keep them shut. Open them now, Hydrus."

He did, and felt tears swarm his vision.

They looked so beautiful, so dangerous, swirling and swirling…

Professor Quirrell leaned in closer to his hand. "Look at the bottom of each flame. It's beginning to turn blue."

What he said held truth. When Hydrus blinked away the tears, there was blue amongst the orange and yellow; soft, light, blue that glimmered like a thousand gems.

"Close your fists, now. And throw your fires against the target."

As he spoke, a figure began to appear, dark orange in the fire light.

"It's shaped like a person," Hydrus whispered.

"It is." Professor Quirrell looked at him. "Throw your flames."

And he did.

Instead of exploding as all the previous targets had done, the body seemed to absorb the fire. It glowed a hot yellow, and suddenly, it _moved._

"One day," Professor Quirrell said, "there will come a day, when doing what is _right_, means to fight another person. Ready yourself."

His legs were trembling as he stood up, and his hands shook so bad, that with every tremor, they threw another handful of shadows into the room.

The body began to move, crackling with some sort of foreign energy.

He was a wizard, with a wand lying on the coffee table, but in that moment, he could not seem to remember a single spell. Instead, Hydrus righted his fists and threw a great ball of fire.

It was a stupid idea. He should have known.

The great thing absorbed all of his flames as it did before, and continued marching.

"I don't know what to do," he said quietly. "I don't… what do... I do?"

"It's a matter of life-and-death," Professor Quirrell boomed. "You're more than a pyrokinetic. You have legs, you have arms, you have _wits._ Do something, or _die_."

Wits… Hydrus tried to collect his own, but they were swarming in his mind, running in circles, chasing each, barely able to string words together.

The target moved as smoothly as a normal person, and might have passed for one, if it did not glow with a swirl of orange and white. It was five feet away, then three, then two, then -

It raised its fist, and struck Hydrus in his face.

A flare of pain rushed through his cheek, and as he felt hot tears gather in his eyes, he tried to tell himself to do something, to move his arms, or his legs or his fingers…

The fist struck again.

Hydrus tried, he really did, to claw at the arms of the being, to set it afire, but its limbs were smooth as silk and slippery as a wet eel. When he tried to set them aflame, it was just as pointless as before.

He felt something else rush at his face, and he tried to knock it away.

For a second, it seemed to work. The fist weakened, and Hydrus mustered all of his strength to bash it away. But whatever it was, it was not human.

Some sort of animalistic strength took hold of its arm, and Hydrus felt his chest burn with pain as he crashed to the floor.

Quickly, he backed away, but the thing was faster.

As his hands fumbled against his trousers, trying desperately to find his wand, they sent his pants ablaze. The fire was bright, much brighter than what it had been on his hands, and for a moment, Hydrus dare not open his eyes.

Again, the fist came racing at his cheek.

And so, he did the only thing he could possibly do. He groped his way to his feet, and ran.

As he dashed, the room seemed to grow, the dark walls suddenly lit by torches, and the walls were no longer smooth and white. They were rough stone, grey as slate.

The wind rushed against what remained of his robes, whisking the flames into a greater frenzy. His legs were bare now, the fire having nibbled all of his clothing away.

The being could run, its synthetic legs moving with a soundless grace, quick as a panther, and just as nimble. Hydrus ran so fast his feet began to slip on the floor, and suddenly, it really was wet, and slick with some sort of water. Too late to do anything about that now. He tripped over his own feet and fell.

As he righted his head in a daze, Hydrus saw long wooden shelves filled to the brim with clear jars, glowing with foreign liquids. As the humanesque abomination neared, he lurched to his feet and grabbed the nearest vial he could reach.

It was filled with a greenish brine, and when he threw it, juice sprayed all over his smooth arms. They sizzled, and it was just enough time for Hydrus to grab another. This one was filled with amber-coloured fluid, thick and sloshy. His blazing hands began to melt the glass, and the liquid began to steam.

When the jar burst upon the fiery orange skin of the monster, it seemed to eat him alive. Hard flesh dissolved like soft butter, until only dark sediments remained of his arms.

They fell to the floor, powdery and lifeless.

But quick as they withered, they swarmed upon themselves.

Hydrus threw another jar; this time filled with dark purple slurry. It doused the ash-like sediments, but it began to reform nonetheless.

And for once, he knew what to do.

His hands were ablaze, and it caught against the wooden shelves. A hundred jars fell to the floor at once, splattering with a thousand different colours.

Hydrus closed his fists, and doused the ashes with fire.

They caught like wood, and burned deep violet.

A horrible screech resounded through the room, and for a moment, he could not see. The sound was blinding, and when his vision cleared once more, he was back in his cushioned armchair, beside Professor Quirrell, his hands smoking, and no fire to be seen.

"And so now you see," he told him.

Hydrus clutched his forehead. It pounded terribly. He mumbled something.

"There is more to you, than your pyrokinesis. You have arms, you have legs, you have a _wand_, and above all, you have your wits. All of those are terribly dull, I'm afraid. Come tomorrow, and you shall find your way here. Your muscles need strengthening, and your mind is so slow, even a snail moves faster than it. We will continue on the morrow. Have a good night's sleep."

__(O.O)__

Hydrus walked the edge of the Forbidden Forest, under a dark sky and a flurry of white flakes. His boots sank into the snow as he stepped, and his face was cold and red from the frigid winds. He should not be out here, he knew.

With his dark cloak and small stature, he was almost invisible in the swirl snowflakes. But he could not help himself. It was a nice way to think, and he had much to think about.

_Quirrell wants the stone. He wants it, for what, I don't know. I need to tell someone - anyone - but how? I am bound by oath to speak no words of this, and he will know if I do. He searches my memories, and he probes my mind. What have I become, if not another puppet? Drawn by two masters, both as bad as the next._

The red eyes had been strangely silent. They were there in his mind, burning bright in an shy grey darkness, but they did not speak, and they held themselves to a strange silence.

_They're worried_, Hydrus thought. _Dumbledore knows_.

The words haunted him more than they ought to have.

"Hydrus!"

His head whipped around, and for a moment, the embers of a fire were beginning to form in his palms.

A great lumbering shadow approached, holding a yellow lantern that swaggered with each step. The wind howled, and for a moment, Hydrus considered running. He did not know if any rules had been broken, though curfew would not be for another hour.

"Sir?" he said stiffly. It could not be him, of all people. Him who had looked at him on his first day at Hogwarts with longing and fascination and a morbid sense of fear.

And yet, kicking snow in his wake, Rubeus Hagrid, bundled thick and tight with skins and cloaks, towered over Hydrus.

"'S cold out here. A young fellow like you ought to be inside, nursing a warm cup of cao cao."

"Of course," he said immediately. At his side, a large dog was sniffing at Hydrus' hands, making it very difficult to think clearly.

"It's a long way to Hogwarts, but a short way to my hut. Get you nice and warm, I promise. Come along, Fang."

Hydrus had no choice but to take great leaping steps in the thick snow, barely keeping up with Hagrid, who was twice as tall as he was, and perhaps just as wide.

His hut was made of wood, and sprouted red leaves in the autumn, but winter had whisked those away, blanketing everything in soft white snow. Inside, a hearth was crackling away merrily, and a table had been set for one. The chair was half a foot too tall, and the table reached his shoulders when standing. Sitting was a little better, and only after Hagrid took pity on him, and gave Hydrus a cushion for height.

"You should try my tea cakes," he told him. "Made 'em me-self. Secret is to add a pinch o' lime juice into the batter."

They were harder than rock, and tasted just as pleasant as the texture.

"Thank you, sir."

"None o' that 'sir', thing, Hydrus. 'M not a member of the faculty."

_Yes, but you can still assign me detentions._

"Of course."

His dog, Fang, had curled up at the fire and was blinking lazily. Hagrid threw him a bone, before continuing, "D'you want some tea? Me ma always found it great for warmin' up on cold nights like these."

A teapot was brought for him, along with two matching cups, all carved roughly from wood. Hagrid poured a cup for the both of them, and Hydrus took a sip, just to be polite. The taste was of summer and fresh grass fields, with a bitter aftertaste that reminded him of happiness gone sour.

"It's special isn't it?" Hagrid said. "Made it with some herbs from the forest, a bit o' Willow Wisps, some dried flowers and some lemon. Always the lemon."

Hydrus nodded awkwardly.

"Ye really ought to loosen up a bit," Hagrid told him. "A good lad like you should be enjoying their time with friends."

_Friends._

"They're busy."

"Must be important business. 'S alright to be alone, sometimes. It mus' be hard, to have the whole school fear ye."

Hydrus glanced out the window, past the falling snow, and at Hogwarts, wondering just how soon he would be allowed to leave.

"'S incredible what you've done, ye know? O' course, it's expected, I'd say, for the son o' Lily an' James Potter."

Hydrus bristled angrily. "I'm not Harry Potter. I'm Hydrus Malfoy, son of Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy, heir to House Black."

"I…" Hagrid looked dismayed. "Yes… I'm sorry 'bout that."

"No you aren't." Hydrus set the tea cup down. "I have to go now."

He got up to leave, just as Hagrid jumped to his feet. "Listen, I'm sorry if I offended you -"

"You're forgiven," he said coldly.

"I… er, I only… meant to…"

"Good-bye." 

__(O.O)__

The morning was cold as Hydrus crept along the seventh floor. The hour was early, and the sky was still dark. Even so, Professor Quirrell waited for him inside the Room of Requirement.

"You are progressing well with your flames. Your arms are a bit skinny for my tastes, I'm afraid. From henceforth, you'll be running twice a day, once in the morning, the other in the evening."

"Running?"

"Not in the snow. Surely the name 'Room of Requirement' means something to you?"

Hydrus gulped. "It can turn into anything."

"Anything," he agreed. "I hope you've brought a change of clothes." As he spoke, the room seemed to shift, and a long strip of packed dirt appeared on the ground. Light was shining, and when Hydrus looked up, there was no ceiling, but a clear blue sky. "_Run_."

The gargoyles that lined the walls moved. They flapped their dark wings, once, twice, and leapt into the air. With his heart pounding a thousand miles an hour, he could make out the sharp, dagger-like teeth and claws the gargoyles possessed.

Hydrus didn't need to be told twice.

His robes fell to the floor, and his feet pounded against the dirt, sending billows of dust flying in the air. 

__(O.O)__

He was still nursing his bruises, when Hermione found him. Behind her, flapping wildly, was a brown owl. In its talons were two scrolls. One clumsily fastened, the other done with a practiced hand.

"There you are!" she said happily. "Look, this owl's been looking for you."

When the bird came to perch on his arm, Hydrus studieded the curved beak, and the amber eyes. Yes, that was Brunai. The letter would be from Cuthbert Templeton, their family's barrister.

The first scroll he ripped open was bound in dark purple wax.

Quickly, he read it. The snow had melted, and some of the words were blurred, but the message was clear.

For a long moment, he did not speak.

"What is it?" Hermione demanded.

"I…"

Wordlessly, he gave her the letter.

"_Dear Hydrus Malfoy_," she began, "_there has been talk amongst the two great Houses of Malfoy and Greengrass regarding your betrothal."_ Hermione re-rolled the scroll. "I shouldn't be reading this."

"Do it," he told her.

"I…" she took a great breath. "_I have spoken with Lord Greengrass, and he has agreed to forestall any action until the Winter Solstice. Upon that time, it is expected of you to return to Malfoy Manor and prepare to meet with the House of Greengrass and discuss the future of your betrothal. Your mother and father have asked that you come home for the Winter Break. The arrangements have been made with the Headmaster and your head of House. Pack your bags, and be ready for the Hogwarts Express tomorrow._

"_Signed, Cuthbert Templeton, barrister of House Malfoy."_

Hermione was pale when she handed the letter back to him.

"The other letter is probably from my parents," Hydrus told her. When he unraveled the hastily sealed scroll, he saw that he had spoken true.

"So you're going home, then." Hermione's eyes were suddenly wet, and she looked away. "Do you think Professor Dumbledore will let me go -?"

"Yes."

"Here," she said sadly. "I have some parchment, quill and ink. If you want some time alone to think -"

There was a torch on the wall beside them, glowing with hot yellow flames. Hydrus dipped the parchment into the fire and watched as the paper burned.

"I'm not sending a response."

"I understand. Do you want me to leave you -?"

"I'm staying at Hogwarts for the Winter Break."

"But your betrothal -"

"Will be annulled. Daphne and her family will rest easier knowing that."

_And when I give my backing to Quirrell, she will never have to pay the price for my follies._

"But -"

"Will you stay with me at Hogwarts?"

"Of course."

"Then all my worries have been dispelled. Come." He gave her his hand, and together, they walked the cold halls of Hogwarts.

The red eyes were there, brimming in his mind, but somehow, Hydrus knew they would not dare hurt him.

Not when _he knows_.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Well, this is an interesting chapter for Hydrus**

**Special thanks to IJustWannaReadEpicStories for pointing out the mistake I made in Chapter 2 - it was meant to be Amelia Bones, not Susan XD**

**If anyone else finds some sort of error in my writing, feel free to point it out. The help is always appreciated :)**

**Thanks for reading, and I'll see you all next week!**

**Cheers.**


	16. Chapter 16

The train left at first light. Hydrus watched it leave from Hogsmeade behind the parapets of the Astronomy Tower.

The wind blew harsh and cold atop his face and with every exhale, a puff of misty air would sprout from his lips. Hours later, and still he stood, quiet and staring at the spot where the Hogwarts Express had once been.

"You need to go inside," Hermione told him quietly. When he didn't respond, she reached for his arm. "You'll catch a cold out here. Please?"

"Do you think it's all for the better?"

She said nothing.

"Do you think Daphne will be happier without me?"

"You're a wonderful person," Hermione said. "I think… I think everyone's life can be improved by… by having you… there."

Hydrus gave a bitter laugh. _I don't think so_. "Come on."

Inside the Great Hall, the remaining students were busy carrying around tinsel and baubles, hefting around boxes wrapped as presents, and sharing japes, one House to another.

The air smelt of peppermint and nutmeg… Daphne had perfume that smelled exactly like that.

"Mister Malfoy," said Professor Snape, in his usual silken drawl. "Shouldn't you be on the train?"

Hydrus shrugged.

Professor Snape glared at him, all the while walking away with a box of streamers in hand.

"Let's go to the library," Hermione said, her eyes transfixed on the hubbub. "If you'd like, I mean."

"You should stay," he told her. "Help with the decorations. I need some time… to…"

She nodded understandingly. "Come back in time for lunch, will you? I don't want to sit all alone."

Hydrus didn't have the heart to tell her that they would still be sitting at the House tables regardless of what happened. 

__(O.O)__

Professor Quirrell waited for him inside a white-washed room, amidst cushions and knives.

"You need to learn to wield more than magic," he told Hydrus. "Pick up a knife."

It was short, a triangular blade, blunted on the sides, that glowed silvery-orange in the candlelight. The pommel was wrapped in black leather, and it balanced awkwardly in his hand.

He learned to parry and slash that day.

He left two hours later, clutching his hands awkwardly in pain. 

__(O.O)__

"You missed lunch," Hermione told him. She gave him a platter stacked tall with all sorts of foods, and they sat in relative silence in an abandoned classroom.

Between them sat a jar of Bluebell flames, some sort of trick Hermione had developed in her spare time. The fire was almost the same colour as Daphne's eyes, and Hydrus found himself looking away, more often than not.

"You're acting really sad," said Hermione. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"You should have gone home for the break," Hydrus told her, in a dead voice. "There's nothing I could do for you here."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "We've talked about this before."

He scraped a smile for her. It tasted sour on his lips. "Let's go to the library, then. I need to… I need to find something."

The library was ghost quiet, and they found a table at the very back.

"I need a book," he told Hermione.

"What sort?" she said, who had read more books in the library than most of Hogwarts.

"About stones."

"Rocks?"

"I don't… I don't know."

In silence, they began pouring over thick texts in the library. 

__(O.O)__

The water was blue as freshly sown tears on Christmas morning.

He had all of the Slytherin common room to himself, and waking to the soft silence of the bubbling water was eerie.

There were a grand total of seven packages lying at the foot of his bed. Hermione gifted him the largest stash of candy Hydrus had ever seen, filled with Chocolate Frogs, Sugar Quills and so much more, sealed into a plastic bag the size of a cauldron, and tied with a green ribbon.

He laughed to himself and took a bite out of the squirming frog before moving on to the next present.

Narcissa gave him bottles upon bottles of different sorts of inks. One was an ever-changing solution, that glowed the Malfoy colours in rapid succession. Another was gold, and shimmered in the darkness. And the greatest of all, was a small, small bottle the size of his thumb, filled to the brim with invisible ink. It was purplish, and supposedly, when dry, would disappear from view.

Hydrus stashed that last bottle in a sock, wrapping it carefully in spare parchment, before cramming it at the bottom of his drawers.

Lucius gave him a book about Wizarding tradition, that might have been a barb on his behalf. He laughed, before wondering if Hermione would appreciate the regift.

Draco gave him high-quality, thick, white parchment, meant for official letters and the like. Hydrus felt a pang of sadness as he stashed that away.

There was a myriad of sweets and quills that came from old families trying to make a statement, however much futile it would be. Hydrus would be required to send a letter of thanks to them.

Daphne… his poor, sweet, soon to be ex-betrothed, had even given him a gift: a handsome pair of fur-lined boots that were mighty and majestic all at once. Those, Hydrus stroked with his fingers, before stowing away carefully in his closet.

And then… he opened a haphazardly wrapped parcel to find a stick-like thing, whittled to what must have been a crude attempt at a recorder.

Written in crooked writing, were the words:

_I'm sorry about what happened a couple days ago. Could we speak about this later? In the meantime, I made you a recorder. Hope you like it._

_Hagrid._

Hydrus, unable to stop himself, blew into the opening, and a surprisingly sweet sound came out the other end. Well, that was another letter of thanks he would have to write…

As it turned out, there would be another letter he would need to write, this time to Hannah Abbott, who had given him a small figurine of a badger and a snake, intertwined together, with the words _thank you_ engraved at the base. It was made of coloured glass, and when the light from the fire hit the statue, a splendid green-and-gold fractal burst into the room. Hydrus grinned despite himself, and promised to the figurine, that he would use some of his new, coveted glow-in-the-dark, golden ink to write a letter for Hannah Abbott.

Last of all, underneath all of the wrapping paper, he found a carefully wrapped bundle. It was light in his hands, and when Hydrus ripped the packaging, he found an odd, silky thing that flowed like water, and spanned thrice his height.

_An Invisibility Cloak_.

As he covered his hand with it, and watched it disappear, Hydrus wondered just who might send such a token like this.

A card tumbled out when he unfolded the Cloak.

"_Your father left this in my possession before he died," _he read. "_It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A Very Merry Christmas to you."_

The room suddenly seemed much quieter than before. Colder too. Even the hearth in his dorm room, crackling with green flames seemed to lose some of its heat.

_My father? Lucius or… that vile bastard, James Potter?_

But did it truly matter? If this really were an Invisibility Cloak… all the wonders he could do with it…

He hid the Cloak immediately, under folds of robes and trousers, before locking his trunk and heading down for breakfast, with a queasy feeling in his stomach.

Breakfast was quite the ordeal. Waffles and pancakes and all sorts of different sauces and toppings lined the table. Bacon and sausages, scrambled and fried eggs… and only one table to eat it at.

"Join us, Hydrus," Professor Dumbledore called to him happily. "Please, there is no need for House tables with so few of us."

Yet, when he sat down two feet from a third-year Hufflepuff girl, she scurried away, before reappearing five feet down the table. When Hydrus looked at her in the eyes, she flushed and turned in the opposite direction.

Suddenly, breakfast didn't seem like something he'd want to do. The pancakes he had just drowned in maple syrup were too sweet, and the pumpkin juice too thick.

He stared awkwardly at his plate, until Hermione plopped down beside him.

"Merry Christmas, Hydrus!" she squealed. "The book you gave me was _ever-so _lovely. To think, that there are only fifty copies of Marwyn Mablick's _Magical Plants and their Mortal Remedies_… oh… I'm sorry I was so late for breakfast… but the book is simply _fascinating_."

And sitting across from them, Professor Dumbledore frowned.

The book was a debatable one, written by a heavily criticised wizard, known for his magical prowess, but even more famous for his illicit uses of it. Some called him a Dark Lord, others called him "a wizard who knows his shit".

It was a dry and boring thing that went on and on about various poisons, just another of the disreputable books in the Black Family Library. Technically, being the Heir, Hydrus was allowed to do as he pleased with those.

And then, as Hermione joined some of the Gryffindors for an impromptu snowball fight, Hydrus marched up seven staircases to the Room of Requirement.

Professor Quirrell waited for him with a long staff, an inch thick and almost as tall as himself. "The Japanese martial arts," he said. He twirled the stick between his hands, and then tossed it to Hydrus.

It was heavier, much heavier than what his arms were used to.

He learned to grip the _Bō, _with one hand back-hand, another fore-hand. He learned to twirl it, slowly, and then faster. As he went faster, the more he hit himself. By the time he was done, there were purplish splotches on his skin.

Silently, Professor Quirrell performed the concealment charm on all his bruises.

"Did you give it to me?"

"Pardon?"

"I got… I got… a gift from someone this Christmas."

"Are we suddenly penpals?"

Hydrus looked away. "Nevermind. Nevermind." 

__(O.O)__

_Use it well_, the note said.

_Use it well_.

"What does it mean to 'use it well'?" Hydrus said. The blanket was tucked tight to his chin, and it was almost past midnight. But he could not sleep, not while knowing that there was this Cloak, a soft, light, silvery Cloak that could do so much.

And suddenly, he was swinging his feet from the bed and walking to his trunk. He ripped out robe after robe, until his fingers felt the silvery cloth. In a smooth motion, he pulled it around himself.

The green fires were crackling when Hydrus walked down to the common room. It was so late at night that the lake was almost black.

There was just so much he could, that he simply didn't know where to start. And yet...

_You came to Hogwarts for a reason. The red eyes have commanded that you take the stone._

It was difficult to walk quickly, braced in such clumsy apparel, but there was no one prowling the hallways, but him. More often than not, Hydrus found himself wrenching off the Cloak, and running down the corridor.

His footsteps were loud, yet no one came chasing after him.

The torches weren't lit, and the moonlight filtered through the windows, casting long, dark shadows on the floor.

There was something growling behind the door on the third-floor corridor. When he tried to wrench it open, it would not budge. Hydrus supposed he should have guessed. There was a thick padlock, silver-grey and not a key in sight.

There was no way to break the padlock without brutal force…

Silently, his hands caught fire.

The Cloak slipped off his head and pooled at his feet. He pressed his hands against the padlock, and watched as the metal softened in his palms.

"_Today is not the day you get the stone," _the red eyes hissed.

Hydrus ignored them.

He clenched his fists, and willed the fire away, just as the last of the lock turned to a waterfall of molten gold. It dripped to the ground, hardening with a soft sizzle. If a professor were to check up on it… Hydrus didn't dare think about what might happen.

His hands were shaking as he collected the Cloak, and taking a last, long breath to steel his nerves, Hydrus pushed the door open.

It smelt of dog, a dirty, moldy smell, that made him shudder.

Until he heard the growl.

It was a soft rumble, but it might have been a roar. In the quiet still-ness of the night, three heads crept towards Hydrus. They were great and long, yellow and red from the torch light.

"_Today is not the day you get the stone_," the red eyes hissed again. "_Nor shall it be any time soon. Close the door, and get back to bed."_

"You can't hurt me," Hydrus said aloud. "Not when Dumbledore knows you exist."

"_Dumbledore is a pale imitation of authority_."

His hands were afire. "You want the stone. I can get it. Easily."

"_You are impatient."_

Hydrus readied himself to blast the three-headed dog.

_This will be the first life you take. And you'll probably be expelled from Hogwarts after this. _

"_I have more business than the stone at Hogwarts."_

"Quirrell," Hydrus guessed.

"_Perhaps._"

_And you are plotting something terrible. I should be getting the stone, and leaving before… before what? I'm getting better at controlling my fire-power._

He extinguished his hands and shook away the black smoke from his face. The three-headed dog was coming closer. Hydrus slipped out the door before it came too close.

He felt an odd sense of disappointment as he shut the door closed behind him.

Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. Hydrus smiled fondly. His own dear _Caeruleus _would be in the Owlery right now, most like. The blistering winter winds were too cold, even for feathery birds.

And without knowing just what was happening, his feet were off, climbing even more stairs, trotting down frigid hallways. The shadow he cast was nothing but his head, great and big, an egg that floated in white moonlight.

Nothing could stop him, running down the corridors, a wisp of smoke.

Until…

A meowl pierced the still quiet, and for a moment, Hydrus' heart leapt into his throat.

The world seemed to slow. A dust-coloured cat, scrawny as a starved child, with bulging eyes the colours of piss crept down the corridor.

Everywhere that wretched cat went, Filch was sure to follow.

Hydrus cursed under his breath.

Swiftly, the Cloak was draped around his head.

But cats had much more potent noses than humans, and Mrs Norris scampered down the hall and came to a full stop in front of where Hydrus stood.

He burst into a sprint, clutching onto the Cloak with shaking hands. He ran past statues and doors and torches, his feet pounding louder than ever on the floor. They led him down some stairs, up some more, until they throbbed with bitter pain.

There were a pair of double doors in front of him, large, with handles that glowed with golden light from the torches.

The library.

There would be enough nooks and crannies to lose the wretched cat in.

Hydrus threw the door open and burst inside.

During the night, there were no torches lit in the sconces, but moonlight filtered through the window, casting, long dark shadows of bookshelves.

Mrs Norris was scuttling down the hallway, closer, now.

Hydrus ran deeper into the library, past thick tomes and thinner ones, past a table tucked in a corner very much like the one he stayed in. But still he heard the mewling of that wretched cat.

He ran faster, and leaped over a rope, the very rope that marked the beginning of the Restricted Section. He felt his heart go light as he raced past dusty tomes, written in mythical, incomprehensible gibberish.

Mrs Norris was creeping on the bookshelves now, letting loose a meowl every time he knocked a book down…

Hydrus turned sharply, just as Mrs Norris kicked a tome to the floor. It opened, and out came a shrill scream.

The sound rang in his ears, over and over. It was lucky he had at least a few feet's distance from the book. Mrs Norris lay sprawled on the floor, her legs twitching awkwardly.

Hydrus didn't hesitate. He sprinted past the cat and took a flying leap over the rope once more. Just in time, he donned his Cloak. Argus Filch threw open the double doors, and marched into the library, hefting a mop, wearing an ugly scowl of his face.

He raised his ugly head and seemed to sniff the air.

Filch prowled the library, coming so close to Hydrus, they were only a hair apart.

He held his breath and inched out the door.

The hallway was alive as he stumbled about, taking ragged breaths to calm his beating heart. Even though the Cloak enveloped his body, and he was indeed thoroughly invisible, Hydrus kept looking back, almost expecting Filch to come racing after him with Mrs Norris.

They didn't. No one did.

But voices echoed down the hallway, and at once, he knew Filch couldn't be far away.

"... _In the restricted section, Professor… nasty little scoundrel. Can't have gone very far…"_

And then, much to his horror, the silky voice of Professor Snape responded.

Together, walking quickly down the hall, they came towards Hydrus, with impatient steps. Taking a deep breath, he gathered the Cloak closer to him and inched further away. There was an open door not-too far. He would be safe there.

His heart was beating loudly in his head, so loudly and filled with so much anxiety, that Hydrus almost didn't see the mirror.

It caught his reflection… except, the Cloak was wrapped tight around him.

And… it wasn't only him in the mirror. There were other people: a girl with silvery golden hair, and eyes the colour of a summer sky, a boy, with short-cropped hair, gelled flat, and a smile on his lips.

Daphne, Draco... All smiling and happy, laughing and talking.

He was normal.

Hydrus stared so long into the mirror that when he finally tore his eyes away, the sky was bleeding shades of red and purple.

Even still, with orange light filtering into the room, their faces were captivating. So happy… a life Hydrus could never have…

And finally, when the sky was grey-blue and he felt his stomach cry out in pain, Hydrus draped the Cloak over his head once more and crept back to the dungeons. 

__(O.O)__

"You weren't there at breakfast," said Hermione.

"I wasn't."

"Are you… do you… you know…"

"I found a mirror," Hydrus told her quietly.

"A mirror."

"It shows… I don't know… it's… hard to say…"

"Then show me," Hermione said impatiently.

Hydrus looked around the library. On the far, far side, with his nose stuck in a book, a seventh-year curly-haired Ravenclaw was studying for his NEWTS. "I… I don't remember where the room was."

"Then we'll find it." Hermione slammed the book shut very uncharacteristically, tucked in her chair and looked at Hydrus expectantly. "The school is only so big. Come on, Hydrus."

"Er… alright."

Madame Pince gave them a nasty look as they passed by her desk. Hermione had the decency to look slightly abashed.

"So I don't understand," she said, as they wandered from class-to-class. "You couldn't sleep last night, so you started walking the hallways? Hydrus, that was horribly irresponsible and completely unacceptable. What if you had gotten caught? What if you got lost? What if something happened to you? I don't even understand why you were there in the first place."

Her voice had risen to a strident key.

"Lower your tone," Hydrus said worryingly. He glanced around, almost half-expecting Mrs Norris to come filching around the hallway. "I got… a cloak for Christmas."

"A cloak."

Lowering his voice to a near whisper, Hydrus said, "It was an Invisibility Cloak."

He hadn't planned on telling her that. The words tumbled out of his mouth, telling her of the note, that peculiar slanted cursive it was written in, the glass figurine Hannah Abbott had given him...

"I - wow. That's incredible. I never knew wizards could make such an incredible thing. In fact, I wonder just _where_ the limits of magic are." She paused. "But that's certainly no excuse to go sneaking around the school past curfew."

Hydrus smiled at her fondly. "I went to go looking for the book," he lied.

"The book on stones? You care too much about this stone. Why do you care about it anyway?"

She had asked that question many times throughout their research. Hydrus had dodged the answer many times.

He told her everything that had happened.

"And you spent the entire night there?"

Hydrus began to climb the stairs. "Something like that."

They searched all of Hogwarts, walking past suits of armours, past statues of gargoyles and griffins, through gilded archways and on moving stairways. They walked through all seven floors, and scoured every foot of Hogwarts, yet found no such mirror.

"Are you _sure _you found such a mirror?"

"Yes," Hydrus insisted.

He had stared at it all night, watching him peck Daphne's cheek, clap Draco's shoulder. No, he remembered all of it very clearly. The joy he felt, the happiness…

His legs were sore and trembling with fatigue when Hermione gave up with a harrumph.

"I swear I saw it," Hydrus told her.

Hermione bit her lip.

"Maybe it's a magical room," he said, thinking furiously about the Room of Requirement. He longed to tell her about it, but no - that would raise too many questions. "It only… it only appears at midnight."

"Well," Hermione sighed. "That's that."

"I'll come to you tonight."

Her eyes went wide as cauldrons. "No."

He laughed. "Dress warmly." 

__(O.O)__

At the stroke of midnight, Hermione came through the portrait of the Fat Lady. around her neck was draped a thick fur cloak.

"Come," he whispered.

She was shaking when Hydrus draped the silky cloth over their heads.

The moon was as white as the snow, a round, silver sickle against a background of stars.

"It's beautiful," Hermione whispered. She had stopped trembling by then.

"Now do you regret coming with me?"

It was impossible to tell whether or not her cheeks were flushed, but something nudged his arms, and Hydrus grinned.

They started from the seventh floor, where the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower was located. This time, he tried to stop himself from running down the hallways. Hermione would butcher him there and then if he had.

On the sixth floor, they met a statue featuring a disfigured woman. One of her legs was that of a goat, the other was human. Her hair was the colour of brass, as was the rest of her body, but it seemed to be made of flames.

Hermione let loose a little shriek.

Hydrus chuckled. "It's an _empousa_," he told her. "They used to roam the world, you know. Until the great sorcerer Babilo Babid turned them all to copper. This is one of them."

"Really?" she asked, with genuine fascination in her voice. She inched away.

"Yes. They say that one day, a rain of ashes will fall from the sky, and the fire that comes with it will melt the copper, and the _empousai_ will rule the world once more."

"I… but it's only a story, of course?"

"A story," Hydrus agreed, "that I made up."

She nudged him again. A bit more forcefully than before.

On the fifth floor, they searched about half-a-dozen rooms before they found it.

"It's this one," Hydrus said excitedly. He could almost hear his heart, pounding inside his ribcage, longing to see Daphne and Draco once more…

He wrenched off the Cloak and stood in front of the mirror.

They appeared, smiling and laughing.

"I don't understand," said Hermione. She stood off to the side, watching him with concern. "It's only the reflection of yourself… and the mirror… it says… it says… is that '_Erised'_?"

Hydrus could care less. "Daphne," he whispered. His fingers raised to caress her soft blonde hair, but where they touched the mirror, all they felt was cool glass. "Here," he told Hermione at last. "Come… see for yourself."

When she wouldn't come, Hydrus took her wrist.

"It's you and I," said Hermione, "standing in front of a mirror."

He backed away.

Suddenly, she let loose a gasp. "It's me! And I'm… I'm Head Girl! Oh, and I've gotten a scholarship to Harvard… and I'm… I'm the Prime Minister of Great Britain!"

"Pardon?"

"Yes," she said enigmatically. In that moment, Hermione seemed to lose any misgivings about the mirror. "Do you think this will tell the future?"

"No." _But I wish… Merlin… I wish…_

"No? But how could that be?"

"I just know," Hydrus said sadly.

His melancholy seemed to take her by surprise. For a moment, she tore her eyes away. "Hydrus," she breathed. "What do _you_ see in the mirror?"

"Something that will never happen."

"You can't say that!" Hermione frowned. "As Eric Morgenstern once said, '_Life takes us to unexpected places. The future isn't set in stone, remember that._"

"Old Houses have pride," Hydrus whispered. "They will never forget a slight committed against them."

"Oh, Hydrus."

She wrapped her arms around him, and awkwardly, he wiped away the tears. 

__(O.O)__

They sat together in the Great Hall, with a plate of gingerbread biscuits between them, and all sorts of festive sweets littering the table. The morning air was chilly, but there were more fireplaces than people in the room, and they kept everyone warm.

Not too far away, Weasley and the rest of his family were playing Wizard Chess, laughing and hooting each time someone lost a piece. They were having a much better time than Hydrus.

He kept glancing at the entrance, waiting and waiting for Brunai to fly in, with an envelope stamped in purple wax, detailing…

He didn't want to think about it.

Hermione was there, silent and still as the morning air, keeping him company. He didn't deserve her devotion, Hydrus knew, and it made him feel even worse every time she glanced over at the Weasleys, with a sort of longing mingling in her eyes.

"If you want," said Hydrus, "you can go play with them. You don't have to do this."

Hermione flushed.

Brunai flew in then, her coat of feathers wet with fresh snow. She landed on the table, and stuck out her leg dutifully at Hydrus.

Dimly, he was aware of Weasley - Ron Weasley, who had stopped playing for just a moment to watch Brunai.

Hydrus' hands were shaking when he untied the twine, and it seemed like forever had passed when he finally set the letter down.

Silently, he stroked the wet owl and offered her a bit of biscuit for her troubles. "Do you ever think, Hermione - and tell me this truly - do you ever think there will be someone who'll see me more as a political advantage? Someone more as the heir, the child, the scion of whatever?"

"There's me, for starters."

Hydrus laughed bitterly. "You're too pure to live in this filthy world."

Hermione didn't respond.

"I'm sorry," he said awkwardly. "I'm acting like an asshole."

"Maybe we should go to the library," she said at long last. "To find more about the stone -"

"No." He shook his head. Hydrus could not stand lying to her for another instant.

As he said those words, Hagrid lumbered by, with Fang at his heels, trotting amiably. Behind them trailed Filch, scowling as he swept away the mess.

In his arms was a basket of fresh pine cones, still mottled with snow. "The stone?" he said loudly.

His heart began to pound, faster and faster. Of course. Hagrid was still 'Keeper of Keys and Grounds' at Hogwarts, whatever that meant. But he would know about the stone. And suddenly, the prospect of coming over to his snow-covered hut was a thousand times more appealing.

Hydrus had, of course, as courtesy dictated, written a letter of thanks for his hand-carved flute thing. It was polite and formal, well-written but certainly not friendly. He hadn't exactly declined the invitation… Now though…

"Sir," Hydrus said immediately. He leapt to his feet. Hermione stared at him in bewilderment. "I'd like… I'd like to introduce you to a good friend of mine. Hermione Granger."

Hagrid's face seemed to brighten. He set down his basket of pine cones with a loud _thump_ onto the table, before reaching over and shaking her hand vigorously. "'S good to meet you, Hermione."

"Likewise, sir," she squeaked.

"None o' that 'sir', if you please. 'M not a true professor. Jus' Keeper o' Keys an' Grounds at Hogwarts."

Hydrus marshalled all of his courage and humility, pretending it was the Lord of a great House he was speaking to. "I'd like to… I'd like to apologise for what I said a few days past. My words were uncouth and ill-thought, and irrepresentative of my true nature. If… if it pleases you…"

He didn't need to say anymore. Hagrid's face lit up like a candle. "It would please me, o' course it would! Your adopted parents - raised you right, didn't they?"

_Adopted parents. Damn you._

Hydrus wanted to scowl. "You are kind to say so, Hagrid."

He smiled. His beard dripped with wet snow. "Listen, Hydrus. I can't dally for long, I'm afraid. How 'bout you come later, for a cup o' tea? I'll bake some tea cakes too, sure ye'll like that."

"That sounds marvelous, Hagrid." 

__(O.O)__

"It's really nice of you, you know," Hermione told him as they walked over to Hagrid's hut, "to give him a second chance like that. It takes a lot of empathy." She looked over at him appraisingly.

"Er, thank you."

The wind was bitterly cold, but Hagrid welcomed them warmly enough, and his home-made tea chased away any last of the coldness.

Hydrus didn't want Hermione to come. He couldn't milk Hagrid bare if she were there. But there was no excuse to tell her.

So he sat there for the next hour, sitting with his back straight and a practiced smile gracing his lips all throughout. 

__(O.O)__

Hermione didn't join him that night.

"I don't like that mirror," she told him. "Something about it isn't right. Don't go back, Hydrus. No, really. Don't."

He didn't listen to her, of course.

The mirror was there, silver and glowing in the darkness. Hydrus felt the Cloak slip off of his head and pool onto the floor. Daphne would be waiting for him. Her and Draco… sweet… lovely people… with nothing in the world to stop him -

"Back again, are we?"

His hands burst into flames.

And to his great horror, Professor Dumbledore waited for him, sitting on one of the empty desks. His thick, white beard glowed orange from the torchlight, and it was impossible to tell whether or not he was smiling.

"Sir," Hydrus said stiffly. The fire died down in his hands, but the embers remained, glowing a soft, buttery yellow. He tried to concentrate, to force the sign of his treachery away, but his instincts wouldn't let him.

"You've been practicing," said Professor Dumbledore.

This time, the Headmaster really did frown. Hydrus wondered if he would get butchered there and then. Perhaps the old codger would pretend he had been killed from a savage _Avada Kedavra _to the head. Or, if the ironies of life were feeling well, Hydrus would be killed from a more muggle-like mean. A knife to the throat, perhaps.

The silence between them stretched for miles and miles.

"It is not wise," Professor Dumbledore lectured, albeit with a genial smile, "to dabble in such dark things, my dear boy."

"And yet," he said, "you keep that mirror there."

"Ah, yes. It seems that you, among many, have discovered the incredible mirror of _Erised_." Professor Dumbledore straightened and slipped off the desk. "Tell me, Hydrus. What do you see in the mirror?"

"You know," he said. "You were there, all those other nights. Sitting on that desk, weren't you?"

"I was."

"So you planted this. You planted this mirror here and waited. Waiting for me to wander the halls of Hogwarts…" Hydrus looked at Professor Dumbledore, and saw that his smile hadn't faded one bit. "Except you knew I was going to go wandering the halls past curfew, the night of Christmas day. You sent the Cloak to me, didn't you? You were the one who _stole my Cloak!_"

His voice reverberated across the room, and it seemed to fuel the fires in his palms. They grew hot and bluer at the bases, the tips reaching past his head.

Suddenly, Professor Dumbledore's smile vanished. "You must understand that your father and I were friends -"

"My father," Hydrus hissed, "is _Lucius Malfoy, Lord_ of House Malfoy."

"My apologies. Your biological father, then. James Potter."

"He's dead," Hydrus said flatly.

"He died," Professor Dumbledore intoned, "standing against Voldemort -"

"Fascinating."

"It was a noble cause, Hydrus, and nothing to look down upon."

"But stealing a dead man's Cloak isn't exactly noble, is it?"

"It was in my possession upon his death -"

"And you refused to give it back to the family vaults. According to the law, that counts at _thievery_." Hydrus stood tall. "And since I'm the last surviving member of the _Potter_ family, this means you stole from _me._"

Professor Dumbledore took a step forward. The flames in Hydrus' hands were more blue than orange now, swirling with anger.

"What has Professor Quirrell done to you, my sweet, young boy?"

_I don't know. _"He has taught me."

"You are scared," he said sadly. "So scared. It doesn't have to be this way. There are people out in the world, people who are willing to _help_. All you have to do is accept their offer."

_You can fire Quirrell, you can sack him, arrange for a convenient death, but the eyes that float in my mind… they are forever there…_

"I don't need your help," Hydrus told him icily.

"So be it."

He couldn't pick up the Cloak, and so long as Professor Dumbledore stood there, the flames in his hands wouldn't go away. So of course, that old codger continued to speak.

"As you must of course know," he said gravely, "the lock of the third floor corridor has been reduced to a pile of metal. Perhaps, Hydrus, you would care to explain why that may be?"

He shrugged.

"Expulsion," the Headmaster continued, unbothered, "is typically the sentence given to a thief."

"Then expel me."

"Yes, I thought this wouldn't have bothered you. But do know, Hydrus, that there are many more traps surrounding the stone than a Cerberus."

"I thought as much."

But Hydrus wasn't listening to the Headmaster, not really. His eyes were glued to the mirror, watching Daphne smile.

"You'll want to be careful about that mirror, my dear boy. Many wizards have gone mad staring into its depths."

Hydrus couldn't hear him. In his ears was the sound of sparkling, joyful laughter that sounded so close, yet so far.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Well, this has been an interesting chapter to write - significantly longer than all the other ones as well. **

**Hope you all had fun reading this!**

**See you all next week,**

**Cheers.**


	17. Chapter 17

For the rest of Winter Break, Hydrus scoured the hallways day-and-night. Sometimes with his Cloak, other times with Hermione tagging along. No matter what he did, Hydrus couldn't seem to find the room again.

Not on the fifth floor, not on the fourth. Or the third, or the second, or the -

"I _really_ don't understand why you're doing this," said Hermione. "There's something _wrong_ about it. Didn't you have that feeling?"

"No," Hydrus told her impatiently. He powered on.

They never found that room again, or the mirror.

It wasn't long, with all the condolences of his broken betrothal, that the curious eyes came. They were silent, and watched from afar, as the old rumors from the beginning of the school year began to surface.

And yet, Hydrus found that he could not be bothered to pay the slightest bit of attention to their words this time around. It meant nothing to him. They were all whispers in the wind, and he had too many things to worry about.

The first and only person who came to him was Marcus Flint.

He was a burly fifth year boy with dark hair and an ugly sort of face.

Yet, when he approached, it was with respect, and when he spoke, it was with the archaic language of pureblood courtesy.

"Hydrus Malfoy," he said.

"Marcus Flint."

His voice sounded feeble and young against Flint's.

"They whisper of your prowess," he said.

"Mine?"

Marcus Flint nodded. "They say that House Greengrass is afraid of your darkness. They say that you hold the power of fire inside you."

Hydrus looked at him. "People say many things."

"Some more true than others. Did you really set the library afire?"

"Yes," he said softly.

Marcus Flint's eyes were alight with curiosity, his face guarded and his posture rigid. It was a test of sorts.

Hydrus focused and brought the swirling orange flames to mind.

They were beautiful in his hand, so bright and colourful. Marcus Flint lowered his eyes respectfully. "The words are true, then. You are truly as formidable as your predecessors."

"You are too kind, Marcus Flint. Too kind." 

__(O.O)__

Professor Dumbledore never sent him a scroll again. There was never more an offer for a private lesson, and for that, Hydrus was extremely grateful.

"Does that mean you can control your, you know -" Hermione gestured awkwardly. The word 'pyrokinesis' seemed to be taboo. "- your… power?"

_No. He just has no more information about Quirrell to milk from me. _"I hope."

Hagrid invited them over another two times, to feast on his tea and rock-cakes. He would prattle on and on about something - a magical creature, or two, or three, before fantasizing about the greatest magical creature of them all: dragons.

And in private, Hydrus began flipping through thicker and thicker tomes, searching for the word _Flamel_.

"Your help has been wonderful," he told Hermione, "but I've found what I need to find on stones…"

"Which is?"

"I, um, thought you wouldn't approve…" Hydrus tried to think of Daphne, and without trying very hard, sorrow stained his features. "I was searching for a moonstone. That meant forgiveness… you know…"

"Of course I do."

And with every lie he said, Hydrus felt something vile creep up his throat.

But there was so much, so many terrible things that he had done and was doing that if he told Hermione all of it…

The days blurred together, where he spent his time mostly alone, stroking _Caeruleus _in absent-minded thought, or trying to find everything he could on stones, or with Professor Quirrell.

He spent too much time with that monster.

Hydrus learned to shoot a crossbow, and light the very tip of the quarrel so that any target would immediately be set into a blaze of fire. He learned the basics of Occlumency, and learned hand-to-hand combat. He lifted weights and ran for hours on end.

Once, Professor Snape cornered him and ordered that he return to Malfoy Manor. Hydrus shifted into an awkward fighting stance and lit his hands afire. With a deep, scarily quiet voice, Hydrus asked if he intended to force him there.

That was the last time someone bothered him about it.

When classes started once more, Hermione was back to her ever-studious self, pouring over Herbology texts, re-reading past Transfiguration assignments and listing Potions ingredients with an avid ferocity.

"You should be studying as well," she snapped at him one day.

"I'm good." Hydrus didn't have the heart to tell her that he had been tutored in all of that and more as a child. "I think I'll leave you to your homework."

"You've been going off on your own a lot," Hermione noted. "I mean," she continued awkwardly, "if you want to talk about it -"

"It's alright." He stood up. "I have to go somewhere."

"Again? But -"

Hydrus looked at her face, so lonely and hurt, but he could not miss this.

Professor Quirrell waited for him as he always did, holding blunted knives and a horrible smile.

Soon, the only sounds in the room were that of blades, scratching and writhing against each other, and the occasional grunt.

"Your arms lack muscle," Professor Quirrell told him for the hundredth time. Hydrus didn't bother to respond. "And your friend, Granger, that one. She has begun to note your absences."

Of course she had. They came together everyday, ever since… since early December. Almost two months. That was almost three hours every day that went unaccounted for.

"From now on, you'll be coming here at midnight," he told him.

"And my Astronomy classes?"

"On those days, you will come before."

Wordlessly, they put away the knives and picked up a crossbow. Hydrus struggled to pull the string behind the latch. As Professor Quirrell tut-tut'ed, he turned to him.

"A bow would be easier to draw," said Hydrus. "Why not that?"

"A crossbow will out-range a bow nine out of ten times, as I have taken to telling you most often."

"Then a knife." Hydrus turned to look at him. "A short sword has further range. Why not that?"

"Those are heavy. Imbalanced. Slow."

"You're training me to be a hunter." When Professor Quirrell gave a smile, a small, unlikely smile, Hydrus knew he was right. "Why?"

"My master requires a certain skill-set from his servants."

There it was. That word that sent goosebumps racing up his arm.

"Your master."

"My master," Professor Quirrell agreed.

A sudden thought came to him. "He doesn't want my public backing, which means he wants to be quietly funded… but since you're teaching me all of this…" Professor Quirrell urged him on with a curt nod. "It's not stags you want me to hunt, is it?"

"Not stags," he agreed. "Phoenixes."

__(O.O)__

In early February, Hydrus saw Daphne for the first time up close. He had begun to take his meals directly in the kitchens, behind the portrait of that bowl of fruit, or having it delivered to his dorm. During classes, she made sure to sit as far from him as possible, and Hogwarts was so vast that outside of classes, he never saw her.

His dear ex-betrothed was pale as snow, and her eyes were the blue of a choppy sea.

"Hydrus," she gasped. Her legs were trembling when she stepped back. "I mean… I meant… no disrespect, Lord Black."

"Daphne," he mumbled awkwardly. "I haven't come of age yet."

It was a great dishonour to annul a betrothal, _especially_ if it was on the part of a woman. Half the purebloods in Hogwarts came over to Hydrus within the first week of school to express their contempt for "that filthy oathbreaker". The other half supported her for "taking an independent step" and "protecting your legacy".

He knew for a fact that Cygnus Greengrass had terminated the betrothal out of love for his daughter, and nothing more. Their family honour was in ruins because of Daphne. And she was terrified of him, even more terrified because House Malfoy had been insulted with the termination of the betrothal.

Daphne, who was once sweet and vivacious, was a shell of that former glory. Her eyes were stuck to the floor, and in a monotone, she said, "If I might beg your leave."

Quietly, Hydrus said, "Of course."

She scurried away.

He skipped his next class, even though Professor Snape would skin him alive the next time they meant. In silence, Hydrus walked the cold hallways of Hogwarts, wiping the tears that fell from his eyes.

"Shouldn't y-y-ou be in Potions r-r-ight now?"

His hands were aflame when he whirled around.

Professor Quirrell, that double-faced monster… he was there. His face was pale and thin, and he shook as he spoke.

"Professor," Hydrus said carefully. Furiously, he rubbed away the last of his tears.

The hallway was deserted. "Come," Professor Quirrell beckoned. He waved his hand.

They stopped at a statue of a one-eyed witch. She was carved from rough stone, a grotesque thing that seemed more animalistic than human.

Why Professor Quirrell stopped in front of that, Hydrus didn't know.

He lifted his wand and hissed, _Dissendium_.

The stones rearranged, and a passage appeared, dark and smelling of mould.

"Come," he said.

"Where does it lead to?"

"Does it matter?"

There was a ferocious glint in his eyes. Hydrus quelled his roiling stomach and followed him.

There was a stairway made of roughly packed dirt that led them through the underground, past the gnarled roots of old trees, and pebbles of all sorts of sizes. They kept going, and it seemed to get warmer as they went, until Professor Quirrell stopped abruptly.

The floor was wooden where they stood, and with the swish of a wand, he whisked away any last of the dirt.

A trapdoor, a fine panel of wood a shade darker than the rest, appeared. Swiftly, Professor Quirrell tapped his wand on the board. It opened smoothly.

Without a word, he beckoned Hydrus through the hole.

"I don't understand -"

"Quiet!"

"Where are we?"

He said nothing in response, and swished his wand once more. A queer feeling of cold water trickled down his back. When Hydrus looked down, his legs were almost the same colour as the dirt-packed walls.

"_Go_," Professor Quirrell hissed.

He jumped.

The floor was much closer than he thought. Hydrus landed in a pile of what seemed to be packaged candies in a crate. It was a small room, dusty and filled with many of the boxes he had landed in.

Professor Quirrell led him through a door in the back, and down a ladder, before they came into what seemed to be a shop. Children, no older than five, were running and screaming, picking up candies and pulling at their parents' robes. The air smelt of Chocolate Frogs and Sugar Quills, of laughter and sweets.

Professor Quirrell tapped his wand against Hydrus' head, and his arms were no longer transparent. "Do you know where we are?"

"No, sir."

They walked past rows of multi-coloured shapes, some red as blood, others blue as ice.

"We're in Honeydukes," said Professor Quirrell.

"Honeydukes?"

"Yes," he said. He threw open the doors. "Yes, Hydrus. We're in Hogsmeade." 

__(O.O)__

"Do you see that man, Hydrus?" Professor Quirrell whispered. His head tilted ever-so slightly to the side.

They sat in the Three Broomsticks, surrounded by witches and wizards who didn't deign to spare them a second glance. Yet still, his heart pounded. To be caught outside of school…

"Quit looking so stricken, Hydrus." Professor Quirrell nudged the mug of butterbeer forward. "Drink. And watch that man."

His hands were shaking when he took a sip.

The man sat forlorn and gaunt in a dark corner, with a clear glass of some sort of dark amber liquid. Firewhisky.

"Look at him," Professor Quirrell said. "Tell me. What do you see?"

"A man," he told him.

"Look more closely."

"He has dark stubble on his chin."

"And what does that mean?"

"He hasn't shaved recently?"

Professor Quirrell rolled his eyes. "And why might that be?"

"He's going through a hard time. The firewhisky. The stubble. The gauntness."

"There we are. Now tell me, Hydrus. What do you think might have caused that?"

He fidgeted awkwardly. "A failed… a failed marriage… perhaps…"

"What else?"

"I don't… know."

He tittered. "You were born into wealth. There are some difficulties others might experience that you will never know. Learn to have an open mind."

"Is that why you brought me here?"

"People have their own plethora of stories. In order to manipulate a person, it is necessary to understand _what makes them that way?_ Why do they laugh? Why do they cry? What is it they want? What is it they have? What is it they're willing to give up?"

Professor Quirrell looked at him with a horrible, terrifying face. For a moment, it seemed almost impossible that he could be that awkward stuttering man who taught Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"I…"

"Study these people, Hydrus. Find what motivates their actions." 

__(O.O)__

"Do you mean to tell me," Professor Snape drawled, as he waved the slip of paper around, "that you skipped _all_ of your classes this afternoon because Professor _Quirrell_ needed you for something? Of which he didn't specify? Of which easily could have been forged?"

"Er," Hydrus said awkwardly. "Yes."

"I think not. Leave, now. And pray that what you have told me is the truth."

And swiftly, Professor Snape stood, his black robes a swirl of dark smoke, and left the room.

They never spoke of it again.

Some more days flew by, blending into weeks, filled with hours spent in the library, and more in the Room of Requirement, sparring with knives and bōs, pulling triggers on crossbows and fighting moving targets. In fact, it seemed that he barely spent any time at all with Hermione.

On this particular day, she waited for him in the library, with a thick stack of homework between them. "You haven't been sleeping well," Hermione told him.

"Thank you?"

"There are bags under your eyes, and you seem a bit more pale than before."

"Was that meant to be a compliment?"

Hermione chewed her lip and thumped a long scroll onto the table. "Are you stressed?"

"Stressed?"

"I don't… know. It's entirely… possible… ?"

He hadn't been sleeping enough, that much was true. The fatigue thrummed through him, and it obscured his every thought.

"I've been scouring the halls at night," Hydrus lied.

"Again?" Hermione sighed. "Hydrus, you can't be doing this! This isn't _right."_

"Yes, because a piece of paper tells you exactly what your moral boundaries should be."

Hermione glared at him. "I ought to tell Professor McGonagall about your Cloak. It's not _allowed_, what you're doing."

"You can tell her," Hydrus shrugged, "but you have no evidence." _I need that Cloak more than you think. Please don't tell her._

Hermione harrumphed.

Hagrid appeared in between two shelves as she shook her head. He shuffled awkwardly, with both his arms tucked behind his back.

"Hagrid," Hydrus said. "Fancy meeting you here."

"Er, yes, o' course."

He inched backwards.

_Look at him. He's hiding something_.

"What book d'you have there?" Hydrus asked.

Hagrid looked at the ground. "'S nothing."

"Is it a book?" said Hermione, suddenly filled with curiosity. "Oh, I need new literature recommendations. But… there is no _time_ to read with the _exams_ coming up."

_Maybe it's about the stone. _"Can we come over later today?"

"Er, sorry. Got… things… errands… I…"

And then he moved off.

Hydrus caught a glimpse of something wrapped in canvas, about the shape of a Quaffle. That could be anything...

"Well," Hermione snapped, after Hagrid shuffled away, "you really ought to get your homework done. With all these classes you've missed, it'll be a wonder if you pass this year."

"I think I'll be alright." He stood up abruptly. His head was pounding. The dust was getting to him. "I have to…"

"You're behind in _all_ of your classes."

"Not History of Magic."

"_Hydrus_!"

"I'm tired."

"But your homework - when will you have the chance to finish your Transfiguration essay due tomorrow?"

That was a good question, but Hydrus really was tired. Muggles had a sort of dark liquid the colour of cacao called 'coffee', but even that couldn't keep him awake some days.

"I'll do it later today."

"_When?"_

"Midnight? I don't know."

"Hydrus, _this is serious."_

He pushed in the chair and collected his things quickly. It was almost four o'clock.

Hermione was calling his name as he left, but Hydrus couldn't tell her the true reason why he had to leave. 

__(O.O)__

He was rubbing his eyes furiously when the door to the Room of Requirement swung open.

"Do you remember your bangle?" Professor Quirrell asked.

"My bangle?"

He leaned forward in the chair and looked at him oddly. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Last night, sir."

"Clearly not enough."

"Er, sure."

"Your absence has been noted, Hydrus. Professor McGonagall, especially, has complained of your absence in her classes."

Transfiguration seemed like such a juvenile thing, a thing of the past, a thing a child might have studied… but him? Studying human motives, learning to fire a crossbows… was Hydrus truly a child?

Professor Quirrell seemed to hear his thoughts. "The Headmaster suspects something already. He hasn't shared his thoughts with the faculty -"

"Are you sure?"

"Use your brain. They would be calling for your head if they knew." Professor Quirrell sighed. "Give them no reason to suspect anything. Tomorrow, you have Transfiguration, do you not?"

"I do," said Hydrus, who felt as if he would be dreading what Professor Quirrell would say next.

"Apologise. Before class, after class, it makes no matter. And hand in your essay with an extra two inches added to the end of your parchment."

He hadn't even started his essay yet, but no one needed to know that.

"Now," Professor Quirrell said, "as I was saying. Your arm. The left."

He held his wrist in his hands, tapped the wreathed metal with his wand and said a sort of flowy language, that sounded sweet and bitter.

It shined dark red, and seemed to grow just as hot. Hydrus closed his eyes and grit his teeth.

When the pain faded, the bracelet seemed to have changed.

"What did you _do?"_ Hydrus gasped, cradling his wrist awkwardly in his right hand. His eyes were wet with tears, and desperately, he tried to blink them away.

"A simple spell, designed to provide… extra protection, should the occasion ever arise."

"Protection," Hydrus repeated. _Every man has a motive. You once said that. _"It's not my own protection, is it?"

"Does it matter?"

"No," Hydrus mumbled. Even if he wanted to, he could not remove the band. It was part of the sick, twisted humour of the Blacks. Bound once, bound forever. "I suppose not."

It made his forehead itch. Idly, he scratched his scar. He felt something wet, and when he took his hand away, his fingers were slick with dark blood.

Hydrus stared at Professor Quirrell. "You…"

"It's working," he said. "Excellent."

"I'm _bleeding_."

Professor Quirrell waved his hand. "Wipe it off. The bleeding should stop quickly."

Somewhere, far, far away, Hydrus could hear screaming. It was loud, but soft in a way, that pierced the air, but seemed to be muffled all at once.

"There's…" he started. Professor Quirrell looked at him expectantly. "No, nevermind. It's nothing."

A wide grin crept onto his twisted features, more sinister than content. 

__(O.O)__

The snow fell thick and white when Hydrus cracked the wooden doors open. Already, the grass was covered. That was bad. His Cloak would make him invisible, but his footprints would be seen.

But this was too important.

The wind crackled through the air, and the fringes of his Cloak lifted. For a moment, a brown boot could be seen, laced with fur and stark against the snow. It was gone, quick as it came, and footprints followed in its wake.

The window of Hagrid's hut was warm to the touch. Hydrus frowned and slowly, doing his best to keep silent, rubbed some snow onto the glass. It melted almost immediately, and dripped down. When he wiped it away, Hagrid appeared, sitting by the fire with a knife in hand, whittling a block of wood. Through the pane of glass, he could hear his muffled words.

"_Yer a beautiful thing, ye know. Can't believe yer owner woulda' parted with ye."_

Carefully, Hydrus pressed his face closer to the window. His breath misted against the glass, and it was difficult to see through the silvery Cloak. Squinting, he thought he made out something in the fire. Staring at it intently still made him uncomfortable, and the more he stared, the more his vision blurred.

Instead, his eyes took in the room. It was homely and filled with cushions. Plants, somehow green in the blistering cold of the winter, crawled through the room. Deep purple flowers, strung around the walls like wreaths, bloomed the colour of wine. Fang, that bloodhound, with a nose who might have smelled Hydrus if he were outside, lay curled beside Hagrid. It was because of that mutt that he was soaked to the bone, and covered with falling snow. Only on a snowy night would Hagrid have kept his wretched dog inside.

They were a remarkable pair, sitting together, one with his snout shoveled in a bowl of food, another with his snout staring into the fire… but what for?

Hagrid had something going on. That day, so many days ago, Hydrus had seen it. Yet looking around the inside of his hut, all seemed… normal.

"_A mighty fine specimen,"_ Hagrid was saying, "_You'll be big as this hut, one day."_

And then, carefully, he reached for a pair of tongs. With steady hands, Hagrid drew something from the fire.

It was black and the size of a quaffle, oval in shape.

Was it burned?

No, it couldn't be. Hagrid was too calm for that.

But what sort of thing was it, then? Black in colour, oval in shape… oval… like an egg…

Only, what sort of egg could withstand being burned?

In a sort of stupor, Hydrus watched as Hagrid flipped the egg around before turning to Fang. He said something - muffled by the howl the hound gave - before striding to the door.

Belatedly, Hydrus tugged the Cloak tighter around him and realized what was going on. He broke into a swift run - or as fast as a person could run in knee-deep snow - right as the wooden door creaked open. He sprinted to the thicket of trees in the Forbidden Forest.

Fang howled into the cold winter night, and through the whistling of the snow, Hydrus thought he heard Hagrid cursing ferociously.

He might have laughed there and then, watching the pair of them whip their heads in a frenzy, terrified of who might have seen them. That was proof, then. Proof that Hagrid was harbouring some illicit, something bad, something worth wondering about.

Perhaps it was related to that stone. That great stone that Professor Dumbledore was protecting and that both Quirrell and the red eyes wanted. Even if it wasn't, that could be worth a significant amount of blackmail.

Hydrus just needed to know what that black egg was. He watched from a distance, crouched uncomfortably in the snow. They made to follow his rushed footprints, but seemed to think better of it when they saw that it led to the Forbidden Forest.

_He thinks I'm an elder student, capable of cursing him with magic_, Hydrus thought hilariously.

Carefully, he watched, crouched under a fir tree, with pine needles scraping the top of his Cloak. Hagrid and Fang seemed to think better of their excursion and came back inside.

Not even bothering to hide his laughter, Hydrus let his guffaws flow with the wind, twisting it into a sort of deranged cackle.

Soon, he would be able to find out just what the stone was.

And for a terrifying moment, a voice whispered in the back of his head.

_Soon, you might even steal it for yourself_.

His laughter died on his lips. "I'm not a bad person," he said aloud, as if that would have made a difference. "At least… I'm not a thief."

That too sounded so very hollow.

And yet, with Professor Dumbledore knowing about the dark red eyes in his mind, Hydrus would be safe if he disobeyed.

_Until the summer comes_.

Perhaps he could make a bargain with the red eyes, convince it of something… just what he didn't know…

Hydrus leaned against the fir tree and wiped away the needles from his face. "What is it that you want to do with the stone?"

"_Many things,_" the voice sounded weak, like crumbled parchment.

"And what if I were to keep it?"

"_All of my loyal servants are aptly rewarded. Serve me faithfully, and it shall be yours."_

So that was what he was. A servant. To a pair of red eyes that lived inside the dark shadows of his mind.

"And who are you?" Hydrus asked carefully.

"_The greatest wizard to ever live."_

__(O.O)__

The next morning, Professor McGonagall handed back their Transfiguration essays.

"Nicely done, Mister Malfoy," she murmured as she passed by.

Written on the top corner of his page, in bold black ink, was a great big _O_. Hydrus should have felt something. Excitement, or happiness, perhaps even a little bit sheepish. Yet, he stuffed the paper away, his thoughts murkier than usual.

Last night, Professor Quirrell had sparred with him. It had not gone well. The bruises were carefully concealed behind glamours, but none of it helped with the pain. He had been exhausted after that, and trampled noisily back to the Slytherin Common Rooms. But exhaustion and sleep were very different things, and as Hydrus lay in bed, listening to the disturbing mess of snores he heard from his roommates, the black egg kept swimming in his mind.

Even still, in this morning Transfiguration lesson, Hydrus felt his mind waver. The more he thought, the more a headache came over him, thick with drowsiness that made him want to rest his head on his arms and fall into a deep slumber.

He couldn't do that of course, Professor Quirrell had commanded that he be seen as a diligent student, but…

It was hard. Hydrus had woken up late this morning. Too late to go to the kitchens and get a cup of coffee. Later today, during lunch, perhaps.

As it turned out, he didn't have time for that. His feet led him from the Charms classroom all the way to the library.

Eggs… black eggs…

There were many books on eggs and magical creatures, yet as Hydrus stared at their faded titles, he thought he knew the answer. There were plenty of magical creatures resistant to fire, but only really one who was big enough to lay such monstrous eggs.

Quickly, he flipped to a page.

Yes, there it was.

_Find what motivates a person._

He was walking down the steps of the Great Hall before he knew what he was doing, past the courtyard and onto the thick, white fields. The snow went up to his calves, and they soaked through the fringes of his trousers, but Hydrus couldn't feel the cold.

_What makes them who they are?_

Hagrid was carrying a sack full of wood when he found him. His thick beard was covered in snow, and slung on his back was an axe. The axe… He studied it… looking at the curve of the blade and the silvery glint of polished metal. Strong enough to chop firewood… but no, Hagrid would never use it on a student.

_Use whatever motivates a person against them..._

"Hydrus!" he called out happily.

They were almost alone. Somewhere in the distance, a group of children in thick fur cloaks were walking back to the school. That was good.

"Hagrid." Hydrus returned the greeting in a cool, quiet voice.

Hagrid's smile was gone. "Is everythin' alrigh'?"

He gathered a deep breath. Hagrid was too nice, too caring. Already, Hydrus felt guilt seep through his chest. "Tell me everything you know about the stone."

"I -" he stuttered. His eyes were wide as cauldrons. "I - you - you shouldn't know abou' that!"

His voice was calm and firm when he spoke. "Tell me."

"Can't - ye shouldn't even know abou' this -"

"Tell me," Hydrus said quietly, "or I will tell _everyone_ in the school that you're breeding dragons in your hut. _Illegally_."

Hagrid seemed almost faint, as he stumbled backwards and dropped the sack of wood. "How -?" And then realization came upon him. "Last night. It was you. You -"

"My father sits on the Board of Governors. Tell me about the stone, or I'll write to him this very moment and have you ruined within a fortnight."

Hagrid scowled. "You wouldn't dare -"

"My father's only an owl away," Hydrus growled.

"I -"

His face pinched, and he looked sadly over at the castle. Hagrid sighed.

And then he started to talk.

* * *

**A/N:**

**A very interesting chapter for this week - some of this stuff will come to play later in the book. **

**Huge thanks to KingZeRoPL for taking the time to write a review for my story. Your words might have been blunt, but they have definitely made me question multiple events that happen throughout this FanFic.**

**I think the reason why the plot development is so slow is because at the beginning, I had just about no idea where this story was going. A number of chapters can probably be cut or at least condensed, and the characters, I think, do need to be better developed. **

**When I've finished writing the story, I'll have to do a _massive_ rewrite of this entire thing, hopefully with a faster plot and better characters.**

**If anyone else would like to pitch in their two cents (or quarters, I'm not very picky), I'm all ears.**

**Thank you so much for reading, and have a wonderful week!**

**Cheers.**


	18. Chapter 18

"You're an idiot," Professor Quirrell told him.

The pub at the Three Broomsticks was busy during midday. Witches and wizards bustled about, serving drinks, trading japes and arguing in loud voices. Madame Rosmerta had served them two Butterbeers without blinking an eye at seeing a student out of Hogwarts.

"I did what you taught me to do," Hydrus said feebly.

"So you found his motivation. And then you used it against him. Very well. And has it ever occured to you that there was a _different_ way of doing it?"

Hydrus looked down at his mug of Butterbeer. "I -"

"You could have wormed it out of him, you could have tripped him up, you could have tricked him - you could have done anything. _Anything_. And it would have been better than that bit of theatre." Professor Quirrell shook his head. "You had a person of high power. You have learned much from me, but clearly not enough. It is _patience_ that you lack. Yes, I should have seen that before. We will work on that."

"I still got what I needed," Hydrus protested feebly.

"Yes, you did. But it was very short-sighted of you to lose him. No, don't open your mouth to argue. You should have let it stew. Rubeus Hagrid is a trusting old fool. He would have told you _anything_, if you were a good friend. But now… to threaten him, you _idiot._"

"I…"

"Do you think that my master thinks only of today? Tomorrow, the sun will rise, and the light will be back the day after. My master plans for tomorrow and all the dawns after that. Already, he has started threading his web. In years, many, many years, the fruits shall ripen and they will be the sweetest, most succulent fruits to ever grace the land."

There was silence for a very long time, where Professor Quirrell shook his head and sighed, and Hydrus wondered whether or not he ought to ask his question.

"Sir," he said carefully.

"Well go on, then."

"Is your master ill?"

"Ill?" He looked almost amused. "No, I assure you."

"Is he trying to blackmail the Flamels, then?"

"No," Professor Quirrell sighed. "None of that. He's a bit more patient than you are, Hydrus."

"I don't understand, sir."

"And I don't need you to, Hydrus."

Words could not dissuade his rambling thoughts. Some part of him was tingling, feeling that there was a greater part of which he knew nothing of. The stone was part of it, in a certain, odd way.

He had a sudden horrible feeling.

__(O.O)__

When March came around, the snow began to thaw, and for the first time, their thick fur cloaks were taken off, their boots discarded for lighter apparel. Rather, during the day it was warmer.

When the sun set and the stars blinked to life, cold winds swept through the empty halls of Hogwarts, and a chill unlike any other would creep through his bones. Hydrus wrapped the Invisibility Cloak tighter around him.

His legs were sore from sparring with Professor Quirrell, and in the cold, they felt like chunks of lead, plodding down a crumbling hill. The fire crackling in the common room was a slight relief. It glowed green and hot, thawing his legs.

Too tired to do anything, Hydrus collapsed on an armchair and stared at the flames for a while.

"Hydrus Malfoy."

For a moment, something cold as ice threaded through his veins. The voice - it was too gruff to be the Headmaster's, but that did little to console him. Slowly, with his heart pounding, Hydrus turned his head.

It was hard to see in this green-tinged darkness. A face, sharp and angular, tall with a sort of brooding stance…

"Marcus Flint," Hydrus grunted. Relief coursed through him. "An honour."

Very little people stopped to talk to him in the halls anymore. He supposed his brooding silence hadn't helped very much, but conversation seemed such a foreign, irrelevant thing in his life. Despite that, Marcus Flint spoke to him as a pureblood might speak to another at a stuffy Ministry Gala. Hydrus made the effort to right himself on the armchair. His back heaved in protest.

"It has been far too long since the last time we spoke," Flint was saying, "but of course, I must understand. The annulment of a betrothal is a great offense, and proper time must be given to digest the event."

Was that what people thought Hydrus was doing?

Hydrus found that he didn't care.

"And it has been very wise of you," Flint continued, "given the current events, to befriend a filthy mudblood like that. Although, one might say that the time you spend in her company has been… improper."

"Yet here you are," said Hydrus, who was doing his absolute best to speak in the archaic language of pureblood formality. "Which seems to mean that you do not condemn me for my actions."

"The others are short-sighted. They do not see the value of what you do. It is impossible to defeat an enemy of which you know nothing of." Marcus Flint, as if in a show of power, flicked his wand and brought an armchair to his side. He sat down and looked at Hydrus levelly. "In two years time, I shall graduate Hogwarts. Then, as per my birthright, I shall seek employment in the Ministry."

"Very well," said Hydrus, who thought eleven was too young to discuss such things. "And so you wish to act as a mediator?"

"Not a mediator, my Lord. A spy."

Hydrus sat back and thought of the long-term, as Professor Quirrell had insisted he do. Yes, that might work. He would need spies, to reach into the deep crevasses of the Ministry, where money may not work. And House Flint was not quite extravagantly rich, but they were not poor either.

"Alright then," Hydrus said.

For a moment, he might have fooled himself into believing he was a king, sitting on his throne, judging the requests of a commoner.

Marcus Flint frowned. It was not meant to be this easy, to be this simple to goad a great, young heir. "So you accept my services, my Lord?"

"I am no Lord, Marcus Flint. Belvina Black is the Lady of House Black."

"She's an old woman, my Lord, and will die in the coming years."

He felt his head pound. He was too young for all of this. He was eleven - meant to be playing Quidditch in green fields, eating Chocolate Frogs with friends under a clear blue sky.

"Alright," Hydrus said shakily. The thought of death was so foreign. He had been groomed, sculpted and shaped for Lordship, but never had the thought occurred to him that he might be Lord sooner rather than later. "But why did you… why wait so long before finding me?"

"The time was never right, my Lord. I needed to be sure that you would be a true and great wizard."

Hydrus regarded him carefully. With the last Wizarding War, the House of Black had almost been decimated. Theirs was an old family, and prone to madness caused from incest between pureblood branches. Aunts married nephews, cousins wed with cousins, and the seed of insanity was passed from generation to generation. The few still sane enough to hold a wand and cast spells had joined Voldemort and his league of Death Eaters. They were now in Azkaban or dead.

"The House Black shall be great once more, and when the time comes, you shall be greatly rewarded, Marcus Flint."

Marcus Flint nodded and stood. "Thank you, my Lord. If I might beg your leave -"

And suddenly, he realized Belvina Black knew as well as him that the House of Black needed to change their ways.

_She knew very well when she appointed a blood-traitor as my regent. Times are changing. I couldn't see it then, but I do now._

_I will hold him as an equal, and hold him with high regard, as my predecessors failed to do._

Hydrus stood tall and strong, and for a moment, his legs didn't hurt nearly as much as it used to. "You are every bit a Lord as I. There is no need for such words."

"You are kind, my Lord, but my House is nowhere near as great as yours."

Marcus Flint would be another innocent person dragged into the messy servitude of his master.

_No, _Hydrus thought, _I will be greater than them all. I will not be a master. I will be a leader, to pave the way for greatness._

"Your house is part of the Sacred twenty-eight, is it not?" When Marcus Flint let loose a shy quirk of lips, Hydrus knew he had said the words. "Your House is just as great. Your leave is yours as you like it."

_I will inspire loyalty, and inspire greatness. House Black will be rebuilt, and more powerful than ever. _

"You are too kind, my Lord." Marcus Flint inclined his head and went up the stairs to the dorms. And suddenly, he stopped. "My Lord?"

"You don't need to call me that," Hydrus told him.

Flint gave a smile. "My apologies. I only wanted to know."

"Go on."

With a sudden tremble to his arms he said, "They say on Halloween evening, you set a troll afire with your bare hands."

Hydrus looked at him carefully. "I did what had to be done."

There was a sort of look of reverence on Marcus Flint's face as he bowed. "The power and magic of House Black flows through you. It shall be a great honour to serve you."

Hydrus watched him go with a quiet sort of melancholy.

And slowly, he stood from the armchair and went to bed.

__(O.O)__

The next morning, Hydrus wrote a letter to the goblins at Gringotts.

He signed his words with the flourish of his wrist and sealed the envelope with black wax.

And then, still yawning, Hydrus went down the halls and tickled the pear in the fruit bowl and clambered through the portrait. The kitchen was filled with exotic noises - the sound of blenders, the running of water and the chatter of high-pitched voices. House-elves, no taller than three feet, with pink, papery skin, were busy washing dishes. Their ears were long and floppy, and triangular in shape. They wore tea towels, emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest.

The air smelt of fried potatoes and sweet marmalades that Hydrus learned was made by hand, using a special recipe of plants grown by Professor Sprout.

A table covered with a plaid spreadcloh was laid across a wooden table set to the side of the room. Over the months, someone had set a thin vase filled with purple rhododendrons. It seemed even magic couldn't stop the rot. Wrinkling his nose, Hydrus sat down on a chair.

A house-elf was waiting for him, with a platter of toast and scrambled eggs. In his hand was a steaming mug of coffee, and on his face was a look filled with reproach. "The Headmaster says that Hydrus Malfoy needs to stop eating breakfast in the kitchen."

There were ten minutes before first period. Hydrus shoveled toast into his mouth and chugged the coffee. Wiping the crumbs from his lips, he told the house-elf, "Tell the Headmaster I don't care." When the house-elf scowled, Hydrus grinned tiredly. Two minutes to go before Transfiguration, now. "It's been lovely seeing you. Could I get a Treacle Tart to go?"

With a grunt and a snap of his fingers, the house-elf complied.

"Well, goodbye," he said.

The house-elf gave a nod, before collecting his dishes with a twitch of his fingers and disappearing in a puff of smoke.

So Dumbledore had the house-elves reporting his every step. Hydrus supposed he ought not be surprised.

But now, more than ever, it was imperative he kept his plans close to his chest.

Oh, this could be fun.

A wide grin split his face, and he hurried off to Transfiguration.

The Clock Tower in the main courtyard was chiming before he could make it to the classroom, yet as Hydrus peered inside, Professor McGonagall was nowhere to be found.

He took the last remaining seat: in the very centre, between a very irate-looking Pansy Parkinson and Garanor Galanos.

"Malfoy," he said purposefully.

It had been too long since the last time they had spoken. So long, that Hydrus almost forgot about the horrid nasally pitch his voice had.

"Galanos," he returned, just as courteously. But he turned his head soon thereafter, giving sign that he most certainly did not want to continue the conversation.

And soon, from the hallway, far away, the hissed words, "_Peeves!"_ could be heard.

Hydrus bit back a chuckle, and thanked them silently for what they had done.

When it came time for lunch, he slipped out the door and made his way to the library. Weeks earlier, when Hermione had learned he would be staying there regardless of what she tried, she had grudgingly agreed to join him.

They met in their usual corner of the library, shuffled in between bookshelves. Hermione found him there, quill in his fingers, a thick tome in his hands.

"You've got an interesting book there," she told him.

It was indeed. _101 Magical Creatures and their Magical Properties _by _Belinar Magdalene,_ very, very dry, but it did have some ten-ish pages on dragons.

This was the seventh tome that included something about dragons that Hydrus found.

From this, he felt some sort of dread drip through his innards. Dragon eggs were meant to be incubated in roaring hot fires for two months before they hatched. Hagrid had gotten that mysterious egg... a month ago? A month and a half?

Hydrus felt a delirious laughter bubble at the back of his throat.

The black shell of the egg identified the dragon inside as a Norwegian Ridgeback. Those would start shooting fire from their mouths within two weeks of their birth. Hagrid had a wooden hut…

If Hermione had not sat directly across from him, her quill off writing her Potion's assignment, Hydrus might have burst into half-mad cackles then.

Hagrid _needed _him.

That thought brought tears of mirth to his eyes, for he was the only one who could arrange for the retrieval of his dragon.

And, with the dragon out of its egg and very much capable of causing student casualties, Hydrus had _power_.

He could make Hagrid do _anything_ he liked.

He could make him dance to the tune of a devious fiddle, strumming a song of manipulation and authority, having Hagrid do all he wanted.

_And yet, you would be no better than the Dark Lord._

His joy and his mirth evaporated quickly.

No, he would not be like the Dark Lord, who ruled through fear and terror. Nor would he be like the bright red eyes, who could breathe pain into his mind. No, Hydrus would be better than that.

But the thought of it was so tempting, to have a man, willing to shape himself to his every need…

_He has a dragon, _Hydrus thought to himself_. A dragon, that can breathe fire, that can fly, that can kill with the snap of its jaws, with the swish of its talons._

Even, to have a dragon, to possess a creature of such beauty…

Hagrid would need to give it away one day, when it started to spew fire.

_I could have it. I could have it, and train it to respond to my commands, teach it to fly in the sky. _

A great feeling of excitement coursed through him, and for a moment, Hydrus forgot he was in the library, sitting with Hermione.

He was on the back of a Norwegian Ridgeback, a solid black dragon with dark purple eyes and wings so long they towered over mountains. The wind was rushing through his hair, so cold in the sky, but the body of the great beast was hot as the flames that burst from its mouth. The scales were smooth as Acromantula Silk, but they were tough as metal plates, withstanding all spells. He spun through the sky, wheeling in great circles, darting between snow-covered mountains, melting the snow on their white caps.

Two freaks, flying high in the sky, with not a single thing to stop them.

Hydrus felt his heart flutter higher and higher with the dragon, and only as Hermione snapped her fingers in his face, did he wake from his stupor.

"Well?" he said irritably. "What is it?"

Hermione gave him a look. "Lunch ends in fifteen minutes. I thought you might like to grab something to eat."

Grudgingly, Hydrus put away the thick text and followed her to the Great Hall.

He could still feel the wind rushing through his hair, the hot body of the dragon underneath him…

It was impossible to concentrate for the rest of the day, as he tapped his fingers on the desk, drew pictures of him and dragons and tried to imagine the great beast in its full glory - perhaps taller than Hogwarts, so large it could eat krakens for breakfast.

When finally, finally, Professor Snape let them leave, Hydrus tore out the classroom and ran through the hallways, bursting into the main courtyard and running on the field.

His robes were flapping and swirling in his wake, but he did not care. People stopped to watch him, but whatever they said was irrelevant - little insignificant chatterings that paled in the face of a _dragon_.

Hagrid was tending to his patch of pumpkins when Hydrus stopped, gasping and wheezing for air.

"Your egg," he said breathlessly. "It hatches in two weeks, doesn't it?"

Hagrid looked at him with a combination of wariness and anger. His features were twisted with disgust, and when he spoke, it was in a deep growl. "Go away."

"One day," Hydrus continued obliviously, "one day, it'll grow too big for your hut. I want it."

Hagrid glared at him. "You? Ye can't take care o' a proper dragon."

"My parents are rich," Hydrus was saying, his mouth spewing words his brain didn't approve of. "They can pay for anything - _anything_ the dragon might need -"

"Dragons 're too great fer yer filthy hands," Hagrid spat angrily.

That broke Hydrus out of his reverie. "_Filthy? _You're the one crawling in the dirt, with filth between your nails."

"Watch it young man -"

Hydrus leaned in close and stared into his eyes. "If you don't give me the dragon, then I _will_ tell the world what you've done."

For a moment, Hagrid went pale as snow and he dropped the spade in his hands. It landed on a small plant, squashing it under its tremendous weight. He was shaking now, quivering like a leaf blown by savage winds.

"Yeh can't take him," he stuttered. "He - he -"

"Means a lot to you, and will kill you if you let him live in your _wooden _hut."

"I -"

Hydrus couldn't say he knew what in Merlin's name he was doing. Some more words poured out of his mouth. "I'll even let you visit him. My family can buy anything he might need. Give me the dragon, Hagrid, and I'll _promise_ you he will live a happy life."

For a moment, something crossed his face. Hope perhaps, that brightened his gruff features.

But it was gone, quickly as it came.

"You'll torture him," Hagrid hissed. "Force him to do atrocious things, to satiate the thirst of yer terrible family!"

"Well," Hydrus said levelly, "it's either that, or I write to my father as soon as we're done here, and have you arrested within the next four hours."

Hagrid slumped to the floor, clutching his great bearded face. Some more baby pumpkin plants went down under his weight. "Ye can't take 'im," he cried. "He's been my _child_, my _baby_. Would ye take a babe from his mother, Hydrus? Would ye?"

He looked at him with distaste. "The dragon will kill you before you embrace it. And soon, before you know it, the beast will be able to shoot fire so hot, it will melt the skin off your bones." _As I once did to the troll_.

"Swear it, then'," he cried. "Swear it to me that ye'll always look after his best interests."

Hydrus looked at him blankly. "I do."

"On ye life," Hagrid insisted, his eyes red with tears.

"I swear it on my life."

Whether he meant his words or not, he didn't know.

Hagrid's hand, large and meaty, grasped Hydrus' own. "Take care of him well, will ye?"

"You'll still see him. There's another two weeks before the egg hatches."

A new sort of fury entered his face. "And ye'll never take those moments from me. Get outta my sight."

__(O.O)__

"A dragon," said Professor Quirrell. "Is that entirely necessary?"

Hydrus didn't meet his eyes. Instead, they wandered the length of his left arm, past the elbow, and onto the metal worked into his wrist. He hadn't told anyone about the egg. No one.

Hydrus met his eyes carefully. "Does it matter?"

"I suppose not." Professor Quirrell smiled. "Have you ever wondered just _where_ Hagrid got the dragon egg?"

Hydrus looked away once more. Of course.

"See?" he said. "Just another way to make a person talk. And perhaps, if you had not intervened, Hagrid might have gotten into legal trouble, when an _anonymous_ source notified the Ministry of the dragon. Now of course, Professor Dumbledore would work extra hard to smooth the situation over, allowing a certain stone to disappear and my master to gain power."

He felt a strange flush of courage. Hydrus raised his head in challenge. "The Ministry won't take my dragon."

"Yes, yes," Professor Quirrell sighed. "You and your boy-ish fantasies. Very stupid and impulsive if I might say."

"You said so yourself. Your master will require my aid."

Professor Quirrell rolled his eyes. "Has anyone ever told you how difficult it is to tame a dragon?"

"This will be different," Hydrus said.

"Yes, yes, that sureness of the youth. Have you ever wondered just where you might keep your dragon?"

He had, sort of. Some part of him knew that despite what he told Hagrid, there were some things even money couldn't buy. There were times when Hydrus hated being a child, and now was one of them.

"There are dragon keeps in the south. Privately owned by Lazarescu in Romania."

"Romania?" he laughed. "And how do you mean for it to arrive? You'll fly there on the back of that beast, won't you?"

Hydrus flushed. "I… haven't written to him yet… but he might send riders… or something..."

"Riders? Broomstick riders?" Professor Quirrell looked close to tears as he cackled. "They're bound by oath to report you to the Romanian Ministry."

Suddenly, his shoes were the most fascinating thing in the world. "I didn't know that."

"You do now."

"So I can't do it then."

"If you have a death wish."

"You don't recommend it," Hydrus repeated thoughtfully. "So you think there's a better idea."

"Yes."

What could it possibly be? It was only in Romania that there were private dragonkeeps. Anywhere else, and Hydrus might be arrested for conspiracy and other terrible crimes he dare not think of. Gold and influence were worth much, but against damning evidence…

But someone else… some who had funding and land and plenty of spare time...

"No," Hydrus hissed.

"Oh, I think so. I do believe I'll be leaving Hogwarts earlier than anticipated, however. What a pity. Children are such a delight."

Hydrus frowned. "You said so yourself. Dragons are impossible to tame."

"Well, the words 'impossible' and 'never before done' are not the same things."

"But you just said -"

"I heard myself, Hydrus. I never said _I _could do it."

This wasn't making any sense at all. "I don't understand."

"Yes. You've always been a bit slow. Allow me to spell it out for you: your Hogwarts education has come to an end, I do believe."

"Hogwarts?" he blanched. "I can't just… _leave_."

"And why not?"

"My education -"

"Your _education_. Do you think being able to recite texts will impress my master?"

"I can't - I'm not _good_ at magic."

And as much as he hated it, it was _true_. Some part of him still cowered each and every time he cast a spell, and some part of him couldn't… couldn't put his mind to learning that horrible and mystic art that could kill with the flick of a finger.

"Yes, well. We'll work on that. Your magical talent, and your taste in allies."

"Sir, I -"

"_Marcus Flint_," Professor Quirrell scoffed. "That overgrown boy can't very well tell the difference between his right hand and the left. Of all people? And to bestow upon him a _Corvus?_ Are you mad?"

"No," he said petulantly. "Of course not!"

"Really?"

"I have a plan," Hydrus insisted.

"A plan?" he mocked. "Like the thing you did with Hagrid? Your plan?"

Hydrus flushed bright red. "It will be better than the last."

"Oh, I think anything will be better than that."

__(O.O)__

When morning came, Hydrus stopped Marcus Flint and beckoned him away from his friends. They watched with a respectful silence, and one even nodded when they left.

It felt strange, alien, odd, now, knowing just what he was doing.

The crow was made of an amethyst so dark it was almost black, with rubies in its eyes that glowed red like fire.

Carefully, Hydrus looked down both ends of the hallway. No one.

His hands were shaking as he held the crow against the torchlight.

A kaleidoscope of colours came to life; dark purples and bright reds, a touch of green and a swirl of silver.

"My Lord," Marcus Flint said quietly, carefully, with a reverent tremble to his words.

He recognized it. Any pureblood with even the slightest education in Wizarding Etiquette would have recognized it.

"I had it modified especially for you," Hydrus told him. "The talons, you see? They're opaque. Grey-brown, made with flint." He turned to look at him. "I thought it would be fitting."

Marcus Flint towered over him with great broad shoulders and hands as big as sausages. Yet still, he seemed to bow to Hydrus. His voice trembled as he whispered, "Mine, my Lord?"

"The _Corvus_ was given to the greatest friends of House Black," Hydrus said. "At the slightest thought of disloyalty, it is said that the bird would come alive, and follow the person forever, until it picked their eyes out."

Marcus Flint's eyes widened ever-so slightly, and slowly, he took a shaky step back. "My… my Lord… I -"

"But of course," Hydrus continued, "there's more to the _Corvus_ than curses. There are blessings, threaded into the stones. Spells to make you stronger, charms to make you faster. Incantations, so old that their words can't be pronounced anymore. And of course, the unquestionable and immediate aid of any of the allies of House Black and their vassals."

"You honour me, my Lord."

"I'm not a Lord, Marcus Flint."

And somehow, with a great, powerful crow in his fingers and the heir to House Black watching him, Marcus Flint somehow, somewhere, found the guts to smile. "Alright then, Hydrus."

He smiled back.

_You see, Quirrell? He's not stupid._

"I need something from you, Marcus Flint."

He responded with an apt smile. "Anything, Hydrus."

"I ask that you keep your _Corvus _a secret."

Marcus Flint looked at him, willing and ready. "Is that all?"

Hydrus looked at him. His eyes were alight with awe and a sort of eagerness that could only be brought upon with a queer, deep loyalty.

Yes, giving him the _Corvus _had been the right thing to do.

Professor Quirrell had insisted that to give a great, treasured family heirloom to a random fifteen-year-old boy would be senseless. Part of Hydrus agreed. And yet, to leave Hogwarts next year, he would need eyes and ears in the castle, to recruit and inform, to spread the word of the grandeur of House Black and the… the master it served.

"There will be more things," Hydrus told him. "Greater, more dangerous, grander things that I will ask of you. But for now, I ask that you tell no one of the _Corvus_."

Hydrus looked at him with such intensity that it must have been difficult to look at him with the same friendliness as before.

"Of - of course my Lord."

"I'm not a lord, Marcus Flint," he said solemnly.

And with that, Marcus Flint closed his fist around the shining crow and bowed to his new lord.

_I have won him. My first servant among the million that will come. And with each and every one that comes to my service, with each and every wizard I recruit, I will be better. _

Yet, standing alone in the cold hallway, Hydrus couldn't help but think that he was too young to be binding boys to his service. He was too young to shoot a crossbow, to plot with a crazed professor. He was too young to wield a knife and too young to plot to steal a stone. He was too young, too young, too young.

_I'm not a lord, Marcus Flint. Just a little boy, with cursed hands._

* * *

**A/N:**

**Thanks for reading!**

**See all of you guys next week :)**

**Cheers**


	19. Chapter 19

The afternoon sky was pale blue, with not a cloud in sight. A fine day, that was much colder than it looked. His fur cloak streamed out behind him, ruffled by the wind.

He knocked on the door. Hagrid's brown eyes appeared in the slit, and they narrowed as he saw Hydrus. Nonetheless, the door opened for him.

Inside, a fire was roaring away in the hearth, bright orange, and already, after having walked through the door, perspiration began to run down Hydrus' nose. The heat didn't bother him, not after watching fire crackle on his palms.

"Close the door," Hagrid said listlessly.

He did, and then walked the length of the room right to the edge of the fire.

"What're yeh doin'?" Hagrid demanded angrily.

Hydrus ignored him.

The fire in the hearth was hot, very, very hot, and some part of his mind registered the fact, but his body just couldn't seem to feel it.

"It's not hot enough," Hydrus told him. He had been reading on that all day at the library. Dragon fire should be almost all blue, so hot that any mortal man standing close to a flame as great as this would be torched. The fire in Hagrid's hearth was a pitiful blend of orange and yellow, a cold thing made from wood.

Hagrid scowled. "What do yeh mean?"

"It's too cold." Hydrus rolled up his sleeves and stuck his hand into the fire, as he always did when he came over. Hagrid muffled a gasp. The egg tingled in his hand, black and polished almost to a sheen. "A dragon's fire should be hotter than this."

"And wha' do yeh want me to do abou' that?"

"There's nothing you can do about it," Hydrus informed him. He willed his hands to light. The fire that came was bright blue, and for a moment, the egg seemed to turn even more reflective. "It should be bright like this."

Hagrid harrumphed.

"Hermione has her bluebell flames," Hydrus continued, staring at the polished surface of the egg. It seemed almost blue, reflecting the fire. How long had it been? There was another week, at most, before the egg would hatch. "I think I can procure something from her."

Hagrid muttered a gruff thanks.

The egg was heavier than it looked, and soon, his arms began to ache from the exertion. For a long time, no one said anything.

And then suddenly, there was a crack.

Hagrid leapt from his seat and raced to Hydrus' side. "It's hatchin'!" he cried. "Look!"

A thin line, jagged and black, marred the top of the egg.

"I want to hold i'," Hagrid demanded.

Hydrus looked at him oddly. "It's on fire."

Whether or not Hagrid heard his words, he didn't know, but mittened hands snatched the egg right from him.

"'S a beautiful thing," he murmured. And then, he stuck his head inches away and whispered to it, "Yer papa is here, Norbert. If ye wanna come out, don' be afraid."

"You should be keeping warm," Hydrus tried to tell him. "Especially since your fire from before was too cold."

When Hagrid raised his head, it was only to glare at him. "Wha' do ye know 'bout dragon breeding?"

_More than you_, Hydrus wanted to say. "Little to nothing, but I do know that the Norwegian Ridgeback needs to be kept at a much hotter temperature than other dragons."

"Yes, yes," he muttered carelessly. "I rea' that as well."

"You see, Hagrid," Hydrus said, forcing himself to levels of superhuman patience. "The fire wasn't nearly hot enough, which means that some bad will happen to the egg."

"Somethin' bad?" he repeated mockingly. "Did ter book mention anythin' in particular?"

"No, you see," said Hydrus, "because all of its previous owners were smart enough to keep the egg at a hot enough temperature."

Hagrid dropped the egg on the table with a resounding crack. The wood hissed and sizzled underneath it, and for a moment, Hydrus thought it might catch fire.

"_Are ye callin' me stupid?"_

_Well, yes, technically._

Hydrus itched to say those words, but try as he might, the egg was rolling perilously close to the edge of the table. He caught it with deft hands and saw a whole network of thin cracks that ran all around the egg.

"Should it be this fast?" Hydrus said aloud.

"Now yer asking me?"

He flushed, but some part of him couldn't help but think that something was wrong.

Back in Malfoy Manor, Lucius kept albino peacocks; great feathered birds that lay white eggs. Those birds were always the most predatory when it came time to nesting - once, Hydrus had gotten a great triangular-shaped bite mark in his hand when he ventured too close to the birds. It bled ferociously and stung like hell when the essence of Dittany was applied.

When it came time for the hatching, Narcissa would invite purebloods from near and far to view the entire event. It would take days, some eggs breaking before others, but on average, it took hours before a single peacock, grey-ish with small feathers slick against its body, would crawl from its egg.

All the while, Narcissa boasted of their delicate light sheen, so pure and bright. They were the only albino peacocks in all of Great Britain, bred from generations of Malfoys, imported from one of the French estates.

The dragon was hatching too quickly.

He told Hagrid that, watching as another series of cracks broke the delicate surface.

"Did yer book mention that as well?" he drawled.

With a raw sort of fury still brimming inside of him, Hydrus looked away and stared at the place where Hagrid had dropped the egg. There was a sort of oval-shaped dent there, a light impression in the dark wood. The fall wasn't very big, and yet…

"You shouldn't have dropped the egg," Hydrus told him.

Hagrid opened his mouth, as a great look of fury crossed his face. But it was gone, quickly as it came, and replaced with a wave of desolation. "Yes. Yer right."

And as he spoke, something poked through the egg. Hydrus set it down immediately. Narcissa had told him a thousand times over that hatching eggs were meant to do it on a flat surface. She had made Draco go to bed without supper once, when he tried to touch the arse of a half-hatched peachick.

It was a head; black and purple, with eyes red like fire. Scales, smooth and smaller than the nib of a quill, covered him from the snout to as far as Hydrus could see, except on the top of his head, where the nubs of dark horns lay.

The dragon gave off a soft snarl, and when Hydrus lifted his head, he saw Hagrid, looking almost to the point of tears, as he tried to touch its head.

A rattling sound could be heard, a clicking of some sort and the head of the dragon twitched awkwardly and hissed a soundless hiss at the egg.

"I should help it -" Hagrid began.

The rattling was getting louder and more frenetic, going and going, until suddenly - the egg cracked, and a spindly creature with large paper-thin wings wriggled feebly on the table. Its head was too large for the rest of its body - only, it didn't just have one head.

There were two sets of jaws. Two sets of bright red eyes, two sets of necks thin as reeds. Two sets of nubs for horns, and two sets of nostrils, blowing grey smoke into the air.

"I don' understand," Hagrid was whispering.

Hydrus stared into the red eyes of the head closest to him. They were almost like liquid fire, like bubbling lava spewing from a volcano, bright and powerful. And yet, its head seemed smaller than the other, more sickly, more frail, like a shrivelled prune.

"I do," he said. His voice was brittle and thinner than the bony limbs of the cursed dragon. He knew this would happen, he knew - somehow. It had never been written, and yet… and yet… "You didn't heat the egg enough. The other head - I think… I think it's... a defect."

Dimly, he heard Hagrid let loose a roar so loud it seemed to shake his wooden hut. The dark purple flowers roped around his wall quivered, some falling to the floor.

"_He isn't a mistake! Do ye hear me, Hydrus? HE'S PERFECT, AND DON' EVER _THINK _TO TELL ME OTHERWISE."_

And then he burst into tears, as if he were a mother, holding a broken babe in his arms. 

__(O.O)__

"It's crippled," Hydrus told Professor Quirrell in a soft, dead voice.

"Crippled? Nothing magic can fix, surely."

His insides squeezed uncomfortably tight. "It's an entire head, sir."

"Well," he stroked his chin, "but it'll be able to fly, surely?"

Hydrus wasn't sure if the dragon would survive past the week. While the larger head ate as much as any newborn-creature might have, it didn't keep any of it down. Hagrid's table had been a mess of chicken-and-brandy slurry, vomited by the head. The other one lay on the table, with its stark red eyes staring into nothingness.

It was more than 'an extra head', as Hydrus had thought. There was something wrong entirely with the anatomy of the dragon, and it seemed that unless they fixed it, Norbert wouldn't eat.

He was mute as well, and moved with a strange, sluggish, crawling movement, grappling the table with the claws on his wings. When Hydrus looked closer, he saw that there were no claws on his feet. His tail was a wispy thing, that started as one and forked abruptly in two. Norbert swished it as he crawled, but it only seemed to keep him off balance.

Hydrus told Professor Quirrell all of that.

"That is… unfortunate. It seems you won't be getting a new pet."

His words cut deeper than Hydrus might've liked to admit.

"But it might survive," he said in a quiet, desolate voice.

"Muggles," Professor Quirrell sighed, "have ways to bypass things like this. Wizards, however…" He looked at Hydrus. "Well, go on. Speak. What is it you have in mind?"

"I think… I think we might need to… contact... the Romanian dragon keep."

"We?"

"I meant -" Hydrus looked down, a rapid flush blossoming on his cheeks, "- me. I'll write a letter to them. About Norbert."

"I bid you good fortune, then."

"But I'll need… I need you to do something for me," he stuttered, feeling very awkward.

"Do tell."

_He knows, and he's still going to make me say it?_

A flush of anger spiked through him, but Hydrus pushed it down. "They'll need a representative on behalf of the school."

Professor Quirrell smiled. "Why… I do believe I just might know a person who can fit your criteria." He twitched his fingers and a feathery quill appeared in his hands. "But as you must know by now, nothing comes without a price, Hydrus. I do believe _I_ will be setting terms for this." And as he spoke, a yellowed parchment unravelled on the table, and a pot of black ink appeared beside it. Professor Quirrell dipped the tip of his quill and looked up. "Well, don't look at me like that." 

__(O.O)__

Hydrus met Hermione outside, in the crisp, cool wind of late March, with a bright blue sky and white fluffy clouds to keep them company.

"- and there's just so many herbs and creatures to remember," she was saying. "I just don't think I'll be able to do as good on these exams as I might've done back in my old primary school."

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Hydrus told her airily.

In the far distance, Hagrid's hut was a brown splotch, with thick, greyish smoke spouting from the chimney.

Norbert still wasn't eating. All Hagrid could do was drop tiny droplets of water down his throat - and even still, sometimes, Norbert would have all of it come out. His two heads drooped low against the table, and just yesterday, when Hydrus skipped History of Magic, Hagrid couldn't even muster his customary loathsome glare towards him. His eyes were so swollen and red that they were no bigger than slits.

"He's going to die," Hagrid whispered mournfully. "He's going to die."

And then he burst into tears once more.

"But of course," Hermione was saying, "I talked to Professor McGonagall, and she agreed that the end-of-year exams were essential in evaluating our knowledge of magic. And get this, Hydrus - are you even listening to me?"

There was a long pause, where Hermione looked at him expectantly, and Hydrus stared off into the distance, down south-east, where Romania was.

"Well?" she demanded.

How many miles separated Great Britain from Romania? Hundreds, thousands - too many. Even _Caeruleus_, prized for his swiftness couldn't make it there within a day or two.

There wasn't enough _time_.

"I need to write a letter," Hydrus said suddenly.

Hermione looked at him strangely. "Pardon?"

He ignored her, rushing down the field of green grass, with his heart beating in his chest. Hermione raced after him, shouting questions as they ran.

"I need a quill," Hydrus roared when they reached inside the castle. "Some parchment, and some ink."

The people in the Great Hall stopped to look at him oddly. They seemed frozen in shock - idiots all of them. Someone needed to move. Someone.

"Marcus Flint," Hydrus said breathlessly. "Give me your quill."

He raced to the Slytherin table on the far end and Hermione might have followed if they didn't all give her scathing glares. He scrawled a message at the bottom of Flint's essay. His writing was messy and barely passable in the least, but he couldn't do anything about that. His fingers felt stiff and frozen as he scrawled a message.

"Thank you," he said quickly, setting down the quill, and knocking over the pot of ink in the process.

Marcus Flint's companions seemed more confused than enraged, but when Hydrus met his eyes, Flint gave a slight nod of consent, and Hydrus ripped out the bottom half of his essay.

He was running down the hallway now, feeling sweat fall into his eyes and the world rush by him. He ascended the steps of the Owlery three-at-a-time, with Hermione a dozen paces behind, her cheeks red with exertion.

There was a confused looking Hufflepuff third year there, tying a letter to a barn owl, that Hydrus almost barrelled over.

"Sorry," he said hastily, before searching the room.

He grabbed the closest school owl he could find, marked by the purple tag around its left talon. "I need you to give this to Amos Diggory," Hydrus told it. His fingers were clumsy as he fed the letter into its beak. "Amos Diggory, head of the Department of Magical Creatures - you know what I'm talking about. Give it to him only, do you understand? Only him."

And then, with his heart beating erratically, Hydrus took a deep breath and pat the owl apologetically on the head. "_Go._"

It gave him a last look, brown eyes shining with something, before it took off with a flurry of feathers and swept out the window.

The Hufflepuff was gone by then, and it was only him and Hermione, who looked very disgruntled.

"Who's Amos Diggory?" she demanded shrilly.

"He is…" _A man I just bribed with ten thousand galleons_. "He's someone who can help a… a friend of… mine."

Hermione looked at him expectantly.

"It's personal," Hydrus tried.

"Personal," she repeated.

Her eyes were aglow with curiosity.

That evening, as they toiled away in the library, something whistled through the air and came to a steady halt on Hydrus' parchment.

Hermione closed her book. "What is it?"

It was a deep plum, folded into the shape of a paper airplane. When Hydrus unfolded the strangely muggle-like invention, he felt a sudden shiver of horror.

The penmanship was flowery and elegant, signed with the flourish of a wrist and a stamp of green-and-gold wax.

Oh, no, no, no, no, no. That man was truly more stupid than what the world believed.

Written in silvery ink were too many words, too many assurances, almost as if whoever had written this was being almost pompous about it. To think… if he could be caught like this…

In the letter, Amos Diggory, Head of the Department of Magical Creatures had agreed to come at midnight, to the highest tower, with a team of 'capable wizards' to help treat the young Norwegian Ridgeback. Hydrus wondered if they were all just as capable as their boss.

A shiver went through him. Perhaps Amos Diggory would come tonight to the Astronomy Tower only to arrest him. Perhaps he would come with a band of wizards only to slaughter Norbert… perhaps… perhaps… perhaps…

But of one thing, Hydrus was certain.

Norbert needed this, and if anything, he sort of owed it to Hagrid.

Hydrus held the letter carefully in his hands, caught in a sea of his thoughts…

"_... I am most pleased with our correspondence. Signed, Amos Diggory,"_ Hermione read aloud, too loud. The letter was in her hand, and all the power to incriminate him. "Hydrus, what is this?"

For a moment, he felt his veins turn cold.

Damn Amos Diggory. Damn him and all of his stupid, pompous brain. It was written out there for the world to see. Hydrus snatched the letter from Hermione's hands and lit it afire.

She backed away with a sudden horrified gasp. "So you _can_."

Hydrus shrugged, and dusted his hands off the cinders, trying to console himself with the fact that grey ash wouldn't _truly_ show on a red carpet - but also, that Hermione would ask no more questions. "I can."

"And what - what was written - I don't understand - I -"

"Amos Diggory," Hydrus swore, "can't shut up… I shouldn't have written to him."

Hermione was still looking at him with a strange look on her face. "You have a dragon?"

"Not me, a friend. Regardless, this is highly illegal," Hydrus told her sharply, "so don't tell _anyone_." His voice had reached a shrill volume. He lowered it hastily. "Listen, this is none of your concern so -"

"At midnight," Hermione said slowly, more to herself than Hydrus, "you're going to bring a dragon, a _dragon_ to the _Astronomy Tower."_

"To save its life."

"This… this is against the rules!" Hermione said suddenly. "Does Professor Dumbledore know you're doing this? Is it safe? What if something happens and we all die?"

"Listen," Hydrus said impatiently, "I saved your life once, so I think in return, you ought to have the decency to not go prattling to Dumbledore."

"I wasn't going to," she insisted, and then looked down, blinking furiously.

He crumpled a little on the inside, but a part of him was more worried about what would happen at midnight.

Hydrus didn't have the patience to deal with her tears today, rare as they were. "I'm going to bed," he told her. And just to make himself feel better, he squeezed Hermione's shoulder as he left the library. 

__(O.O)__

He met Hagrid in his sweltering hut, before ripping off the silvery Cloak and nodding a curt greeting him.

"How is he?" Hydrus said, as the ever-present fire crackled in the hearth.

Hagrid had somewhat neatened himself up, even going as far as borrowing some of that disgusting lotion Narcissa sent Hydrus every month for his face. The swelling had gone down, and with some ice and tea, his nose and voice didn't seem too bad.

"He's alive," Hagrid whispered.

His mittened hands were gentle and delicate as they lifted Norbert from his nest in the fire. The poor dragon opened its eye lazily, and for a moment, Hydrus realized that his scales had a sickly greyish hue to them. His body seemed to have shrunk as well.

His great wings were bones and tight skin, stretched almost painfully. They were almost translucent, like a thin film of old parchment that might be broken from the slightest movement. His two heads looked odder than ever on his disproportionately sized body, and when he exhaled, no more smoke came from his nose.

In silence, Hagrid wrapped Norbert with thick covers and stroked his head one more time.

When they were ready, Hydrus swished the Cloak over himself. Hagrid stopped, however, to look at the place where he had once been.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

Hydrus shrugged, though, with the Cloak on, it was hard to see. "Come on. Midnight is in twenty minutes."

When they set off, the sky was a deep blue, and stars twinkled in the night sky. They were stopped on the fourth floor by Mrs. Norris, who sniffed at the spot where Hydrus was uncertainly, before Hagrid waved his big hands and shooed the cat away.

"We should ge' moving," he said into the darkness. "Before she comes back wi' Flich."

Slowly, climbing the many steps of the Astronomy Tower, they ascended to find desks filled with telescopes, parchments quills and inks, and -

"Pr'fessor Quirrell," Hagrid breathed. He glanced around him, as if looking for Hydrus. "I didn't know ye woul' be here, sir."

Hydrus himself felt a little bit of reassurance, strange as it was. With Professor Quirrell here, Amos Diggory would have a harder time trying to arrest him. Be that as it may, Hagrid looked about ready to sink to his knees and confess all the wrongs he had ever committed.

Hydrus ripped off the Cloak and watched as Professor Quirrell's eyes turned to him.

"There you are," he said. His dark eyes studied him appraisingly for a moment. "I suspected that you would do as much. The scene you made at the Great Hall -" he tittered "- very unprofessional. Though, it does seem that you have been learning."

His eyes went from Hydrus to Hagrid.

"I have been."

A minute until midnight…

Hydrus took off the cover of the basket and Hagrid set Norbert carefully onto an empty table.

Just as he did so, a group of wizards flew down from the sky, gold-and-green cloaks trailing after them. They caught the moonlight as easily as kindling caught flame. Hydrus cursed under his breath.

Anyone looking outside their window - unlikely as it may be - would see seven glowing stars, whistling through the sky.

"So you see?" Professor Quirrell said. "This is why I came."

He waved his wand, and the seven glowing stars glowed no more.

Amos Diggory was a tall, broad-shouldered man, lean and rugged with greying hair, and a pompous smirk to his lips. His entourage, it seemed, was slightly better mannered than their boss, and one of them even apologized for their overt flamboyance.

Throughout it all, Professor Quirrell seemed to sink into the shadows, unseen by everyone caught in the turmoil.

Amos Diggory, despite all of his acts, knew what he was doing. How many hours passed, Hydrus didn't know, but his group of wizards were always moving. They fed him juices down his throat, with a minuscule bottle of gel drops, and held him steady as he vomited some of it out. They bathed him in pinkish water that smelled of rose petals, towelled him dry, counted his teeth, counted his toenails (of which he had none), and marvelled at the unusual claws on the tips of his wings.

"I don't understand," one of the wizards said, as he wiped a thick drop of sweat from his forehead. "Where did you get the egg?"

He looked at Hagrid, who suddenly wasn't meeting anyone's eyes.

Amos Diggory looked up from where he was, crouched over the table, looking at Norbert's dark red eyes. His gaze went from his colleague to Hydrus.

_Don't ask questions_, Hydrus had written on his note.

"Our job is to help magical creatures in need," Amos Diggory said sharply.

His voice carried in the wind, and for a moment, it was all they could hear. And then suddenly, it was cut short, and the whistling of the wind was all that could be heard.

Hydrus looked at the far shadowy corner, where no one had spared a second glance. Professor Quirrell stood still as a shadow and nodded to him.

Was that why he had come?

To smooth everything over?

It was hard to say. The entire thing was a very peaceful affair after that, as Amos Diggory spoke orders in a stout voice, and the soft clanking of instruments and clear-cut voices of responses were the only things to be heard. Hydrus chose a chair and fell asleep.

The sky was lightening when Amos Diggory woke him up.

His features were drawn, and he moved shakily. "He'll be alright," he said. "He will live."

And for the first time, Norbert raised his dark heads and stared at Hydrus with his eyes bright red like fire.

Stiffly, feeling his back ache and his shoulders groan, he gave him the bag of gold galleons. They felt heavier than a thousand pounds, but Hydrus would have given a thousand bags more, even if just to see Norbert raise his head as proudly as that.

Hagrid was crying, crying as he had in the past two days, with thick globulous tears falling from his eyes - but they were tears of joy, and he laughed and hugged each of them, save Professor Quirrell who watched in the shadows, as if invisible.

The sky was red as blood when Amos Diggory and his colleagues prepared themselves to depart, and the birds were alive, chirping and flying from branch to branch, as if to celebrate Norbert's new-found life.

"Thank you," Hagrid said for the hundredth time, cradling Norbert in his great hands.

And just as they were about to leave, Professor Quirrell stood from the shadows, glowing with power.

"Stop," he commanded.

His voice was softer and lighter than the crisp morning wind, and yet they all stopped to stare.

He swished his wand, and suddenly, their limbs went rigid, and their faces were a mask of horror. Hydrus leaped from his chair and furrowed his eyebrows to Professor Quirrell.

"Sir," he said tersely. "What are you doing?"

Hagrid was frozen with the rest of them as well, and his eyes burned with hatred. They all did.

Professor Quirrell paid him no attention, before flicking his wrist and whispering, "_Obliviate. You will forget that Hydrus Malfoy ever called upon your service, you will forget that you ever knew he possessed an illegal dragon. Go now. Fly back to the Ministry. You were never here."_

He released the body-bind, and in silence, watched as Amos Diggory and his colleagues looked around with slight confusion, before hopping on their broomsticks and flying off to the rising sun.

"What did ye do?" Hagrid roared.

"Nothing," Professor Quirrell said, and then pointed his wand at him and murmured _Obliviate._ "_You never saw any of this happen. For all you know, they left with the payment, and Norbert is fine."_

Only until he said those words, did Hydrus realize that Amos Diggory indeed hadn't taken the sack full of galleons.

Hagrid blinked his eyes, said a goodbye to Hydrus and Professor Quirrell, and then collected the basket, and covered Norbert under his blanket.

"You - you changed all of their memories." He gasped, despite his best efforts. "Why?"

Professor Quirrell tucked his wand away. "You saw him. A man such as the likes of Amos Diggory would never let ten thousand galleons be spent in silence. It will take a week, perhaps a month, but word will leak, and when that time comes, your name will be dragged into the mess."

"Oh."

"Well, go on then," Professor Quirrell said. "There is time before breakfast, and you look like an absolute disaster."

* * *

**A/N:**

**Dun dun dun duuuun...**

**Norbert will live... but can he fly?**

**Who knows?**

**The next 2-3 chapters won't focus on Norbert (or rather, Norberta, as they'll soon find out), but rather on something... very different..**

**But don't worry KingZeRoPL - he (she, technically) will come back to the story along with a certain character...**

**I'm using this 'triple dot' thing a lot today XD**

**Thanks a lot lot lot lot lot to everyone who has made it so far into my story - as I pointed out last week there is a bunch of useless fluff written into the first ten/thirteen chapters, and I'm currently working on cutting that out.**

**So if you've made it this far...**

**Wow!**

**You guys have a lot of patience.**

**As always, thanks for reading!**

**See you next week**

**Cheers**


	20. Chapter 20

They skipped lunch the next day, a terrible idea if Hydrus' well-being had anything to say of it. There was a headache creeping up his temple, and his vision got blurry sometimes if he blinked too fast. He needed another coffee, but Hermione had begged and pleaded, and after all that he had done to her yesterday…

His stomach was grumbling as well, but if Hermione felt the same, one never would have guessed. She was chatting happily along the way and threw open the door to Hagrid's hut with a great smile.

In pureblood culture, it was rude to come upon a person unannounced. Hydrus prayed to Merlin it wasn't the same with Hagrid.

Norbert raised his two heads when they came, and one of them opened its great jaws.

A strange choking sound came out.

Hermione gasped. "Is he all right?"

Hagrid looked up, a great smile on his face. In his hands was a small pipette, filled to the brim with a pinkish liquid. "O' course she is," he said happily.

Hydrus frowned. "She?"

Norbert chose that moment to give a strange sneeze of sorts. Greyish smoke spouted from his nostrils, and something white splattered all over Hagrid.

"Ye'll have te 'scuse her," he said. "She'll be sneezin' up some phlegm for the next couple o' days."

"I -" Hermione looked utterly lost. "How - how did that happen?"

"Genetic reasons," Hydrus said.

Norbert - or whatever the female version of that was - jumped from Hagrid's arms and crawled across the table, grappling the surface with the sharp claws on her wings. Everywhere she went, a trail of scratches followed.

"I never thought I'd see a dragon in real life," Hermione said. Her hand reached out tentatively. "But… one day dragons breathe fire don't they?"

Hagrid looked at his dragon sadly. "Hydrus has… he's offered te care o' Norberta… when the time comes…"

"At school?" Hermione looked scandalized.

"I have properties all around the room," Hydrus told her, which wasn't entirely a lie.

He looked at Norberta, with greyish scales that turned darker by the hour, and blood-red eyes that shone just as bright as flames. They were meant to meet. Hydrus could feel it inside him. There was something about her, perhaps the fire, that just seemed so _right_.

Perhaps, he would never soar through the sky on the back of a dragon. Norberta, despite everything, was bone-thin and smaller than a Quaffle. But there was something… she turned her head as Hydrus' hand crept closer.

A strange sound came from her mouth, and she crept closer along the table.

Her head felt like the smoothest Acromantula silk gold could buy, soft and flexible, supple in a strange way.

They stayed silent for a long moment, listening to the sweltering crackle of the fire, until Hermione broke it.

"Is this… is this illegal?" she said, so quietly Hydrus had to strain to hear her.

Hagrid looked up guiltily. "Yes," he mumbled.

"She won't tell," Hydrus said, praying it was true.

Hermione gave him a small smile, and he knew whatever he had said yesterday had been forgiven.

Late that night, as the sky turned deep purple and yellow stars glowed, Hydrus went to the Room of Requirement.

For the first time, there was proper lighting.

Great chandeliers, so tall they were almost as big as himself, stretched from the high ceilings, but they weren't lit. Instead, sunlight streamed from great panes of glass, which must have been magic, for outside - outside, outside - was dark. A table was set in the centre, where Professor Quirrell awaited him, scrolls of parchment arranged in a particular fashion, with pots upon pots of ink and so many quills he might have plucked an owl bare just for that.

"Come," he said, looking up.

On the scrolls were diagrams of all seven floors of Hogwarts and the dungeons. There was the Astronomy Tower, spanning three of the total floors, and then more, the Hufflepuff common room next to the kitchens, the Owlery, a tall and thin tower marked by a circle and carefully written words.

And then, on a separate scroll, held open from the weight of four ink pots, was a map of the third floor.

It showed the room with the three-headed dog, and then no further.

"Sir," Hydrus said, having a suddenly very bad feeling about what would happen today.

"Well, go on. Take a seat."

There were many chairs around the table; deep velvet armchairs, and hard desk chairs that didn't look very comfortable.

Hydrus took a seat in an armchair.

"The last time you were there -" Professor Quirrell nodded to the map of the third floor corridor "- you didn't happen to go any further than the Cerberus, did you?"

"No, sir."

He looked vaguely disappointed. "Well, I suppose I can't fault you for that. Burning anything alive would have been a messy thing to cover up." Professor Quirrell got up and took another scroll of parchment, this time a map of seven continents, split into countries. "How many properties does the Black family own?"

"I - I don't know -"

"You," he sighed, "are the heir to the _greatest_, _richest_ family in all of England, and you don't even know how many properties you'll inherit."

_Not the richest, nor the greatest, _Hydrus wanted to say_. Time and inbreeding have robbed that of us._

"I'll write to Belvina," he said instead.

"Not Belvina," Professor Quirrell said sharply. "Gringotts bank. Goblins do not ask questions, witches do."

"Of course," he flushed.

Professor Quirrell jotted some things down on his parchment, while Hydrus watched him awkwardly.

"In two weeks," he announced, "Norbert -"

"Norberta."

"- the _dragon_ will be large enough to shoot fire. By then, the stone must be gone, Norberta must be gone, and we must be gone. Are we clear on that?"

"I - so I'll never return to Hogwarts."

"We've agreed on this, Hydrus. With what the future brings, your potential cannot be fulfilled at a school."

"What - what will the future bring?" he said quietly. A horrible shiver raced up his spine.

"Prosperity," Professor Quirrell said simply.

"My mother… she'll never… never allow this," Hydrus said feebly. He knew, somehow, that the future would be terrible, would be horrible, would be prosperous to some - but _horrifying _to others.

"Your mother will have no jurisdiction over you if you are emancipated."

"I thought that required parental consent."

"Unless…" Professor Quirrell said softly, dangerously and with a glint in his eyes.

He felt a shiver of dread creep down his back. "Sir?"

"Unless you become Lord Black."

For a moment, Hydrus did not understand. "But - Belvina… she is... is Lady Black." If she had married into the family, Belvina would be called Dowager Black, and the Black family would be ruled by Hydrus' regent until he came of age. But Belvina _was_ born a Black, and so… Professor Quirrell couldn't possibly mean it… Of course, it had happened before, Hydrus was sure… but... "Sir," he said. "Am I going to marry Belvina Black?"

Professor Quirrell looked at him curiously, as if trying to decide whether or not to sigh or laugh. "No."

"I don't understand."

"Emancipation can be done on three grounds: if your guardians have consented, if you have married an elder woman or…"

The last one, Hydrus knew, was only made available for those part of a Noble House. The Head of one's House could emancipate any member of his or her's House… though Hydrus could not see Belvina ever doing such a thing without… no, regardless of what Hydrus said, he knew she wouldn't do that.

"Belvina won't emancipate me," Hydrus told him.

"She doesn't have to." Professor Quirrell looked at him with something strange in his eyes - pity perhaps. It scared Hydrus more than he liked to admit.

"I… I don't understand…"

"Oh, you do."

"No," he whispered.

Professor Quirrell looked at him. "In ten days, Cornelius Fudge will turn forty-seven. A gala will be held in his manor."

Hydrus felt his throat seize.

"You'll be expected to attend, of course," he continued, "as well as many prominent purebloods will be."

"You can't mean…"

"I do. Of course, I can't come. But you'll be there. Along with Belvina Black."

Hydrus squeezed his eyes shut. Why had he ever agreed to receive lessons from this monster? It was almost impossible to remember why. "I can't do it."

"But you don't have to," Professor Quirrell said. "All you need… is a drop."

Almost reverently, a bottle of dark yellow liquid was set in front of Hydrus. It was smaller than the tip of his thumb, bound and sealed with clear wax.

"This… isn't right," Hydrus said determinedly. "There is another way. There has to be."

Professor Quirrell took his left hand, and slowly, he traced the band burned into his arm. "Would you prefer to slit their throats? Burn them alive? No. Those are too messy. Why dirty your hands when all you need… is a drop? It will be a quick death, I assure you, utterly painless. Have no fear."

_No death is entirely without pain_, Hydrus thought.

Professor Quirrell smiled. "It will be over soon."

"And after that?" Hydrus whispered.

"With the stone, my master - your master, _our_ master will be back, and your service shall begin."

"I don't want to serve," Hydrus said quietly. He never wanted to, and saying it out loud now only made him realize just how badly he didn't want to do it.

"We made a deal," he said. "Signed in blood. I'm sure I still have the scroll in here, somewhere."

Hydrus lowered his eyes miserably. "You asked for my backing. Nothing more."

"_For the time being_. The future brings many things. You'll find pleasure in my master's service, I assure you. You and him… are not so different." Professor Quirrell gaged his reaction carefully. "You've had a long week. Get some rest."

__(O.O)__

Gringotts' response came with his new dress robes, flying in with the rest of the morning mail. Hydrus wouldn't know - he had been sleeping at that time, but Hermione gave him both when they met in the library for lunch.

He had told her about the upcoming Ministry gala, and it seemed, all girls had a fancy for jewels and parties.

"Open it, Hydrus," she urged excitedly. "Open it!"

"I have half a million of these things," he said tiredly. "They'll be green and black, I suspect, with silver fastenings and a crow stamped wherever there's unembroidered cloth. Nothing new."

Nonetheless, he did open it, even if it was to please her, and she gasped at the emeralds and rubies and all those other shiny things sewn into his robes.

Hydrus listened to her, feeling the bottle in his robes. It had been placed on his nightstand sometime while he slept, and when held to the light, it glowed red like fresh blood.

There only really was one person who would send him something as ponderous as this.

He closed his eyes tiredly, and wished he had a cup of coffee with him, or even tea, for all the caffeine it had. The headaches had gotten worse, and he hadn't been sleeping well as of late, plagued by horrible dreams. Belvina, and all her golden finery afire, caught in a red blaze, as flames licked every last bit of dignity off of her. There were more dreams; dreams of a poison that made Belvina's regal face cave in like a sinkhole, dreams of a poison that ate her bones as she twitched on the floor… dreams so horrid that Hydrus did not want to close his eyes ever again.

His headaches had gotten worse, and even during midday, it pounded just as passionately as it might have done in the morning.

Somewhere, some time ago, Nancel Fenwick had taught him and Draco about potions and salves and blah, blah, blah, but Hydrus had forgotten all of that. Now, he wished he had not. What colour was a headache reliever?

He broke open the wax with his nail and dipped the whole thing down his throat.

It tasted of cherry, and was thin as water. All of it went down his throat as Hermione's eyes widened in horror.

"What was that?" she demanded.

"I don't -" The headache went away, quick as that. His limbs felt a little less sore, and he supposed if there was a mirror, he would see that he didn't look nearly as pale as before. "- potion. It's a potion my… mother sent me."

"Really?"

There was a pause. "Yes… it's part of a ritual for these Ministry galas…"

Hermione gave a crooked smile before continuing with her homework.

Hydrus remained headache-free, even hours later, as he met Professor Quirrell in the same unnaturally bright room as all the days before.

"There are five estates, sir," he said.

"Where, exactly?"

His fingers felt stiff as they fumbled for the letter in his pocket. "Two in England, one in France, another in Spain and a last in Germany."

Professor Quirrell nodded, as he marked the map with dots of red ink. He unrolled a second scroll. "Give me a full description of all of your estates, and the current state of each."

They were there for hours, talking back and forth, scrawling ideas on parchment, and crossing them out just as quickly. Hydrus came closer to crying than he might have liked to admit, and all the while, he argued ferociously against any idea Professor Quirrell put forth.

"Well then," he said in irritation. "If none of these will suit your needs, what do you suppose you do?"

"I don't want to do it," Hydrus said, much more feebly than what he would have liked.

"All right then. Don't."

Then something strange happened to his face. It twitched, and then Professor Quirrell made a strange noise, that sounded halfway between choking and laughter.

"I - sir?"

When he spoke again, his face was smooth, and his eyes were shining with something - something that looked akin to pain and an odd combination of malice. "Only know that I can summon your brother and a particular friend of yours to my office at any moment that I like, and do _whatever I wish to do."_

His stomach was shaking, his meal threatening to come streaming out of his mouth.

"Well." Professor Quirrell blinked. "Here is our plan."

The hour hand was pointing to the four when they finished, but even then, the light that shone from the great glass windows was golden and yellow.

"We haven't been sparring recently," Professor Quirrell said, as he rolled up the diagrams they'd drawn together. "But of course…" his eyes looked up at Hydrus. It was only thanks to the red potion that he was even awake. "No, I suppose not. There will be time for that in the future."

From the inner pocket of his cloak, he drew another vial. Purple as ripe wine, sloshing lazily inside.

"Sir?" Hydrus asked shakily. He wanted to run from the room, to hide in his bed and pray that all of today had been one terrible nightmare.

Professor Quirrell looked at him. "For the dreams."

__(O.O)__

The stars glowed white and yellow against a black sky, the wind cold and crisp as Hermione and he shivered underneath the Cloak.

Norberta grew three times in size after a week, spanning almost a yard from the tip of her snout to the end of her tail.

It was even hotter in Hagrid's hut than before, and though Hydrus couldn't feel it, Hermione was pursing her lips, and wiping her forehead every couple of moments.

Norberta scampered from his spot on the table when they came in.

"Look at 'er," Hagrid said. The joy on his face, ever-present in the past seven days was slowly beginning to fade. Hydrus had spoken to him about it. It had taken too many lies, too many excuses to explain why Norberta had to go a week earlier than expected, but Hagrid did relent eventually. "He knows ye saved 'im, Hydrus."

He smiled back, and carefully ran his fingers over her. Her scales were like leather now; tougher, though just as supple. Her feet hadn't grown any talons yet, and it seemed she never would. The claws on her wings, as if in contrast, were bone white and sharp enough to dig one-inch deep holes on any flat surface there was.

"Well," Hydrus said. There was no point in waiting any longer. "Say your final good-byes, Hagrid."

He did, with a fresh wave of tears streaming down his face.

When Hagrid gave him and Hermione both a very snotty and wet hug as thanks, they walked out the door of his hut, under the silvery Cloak, carrying what was the heaviest thing Hydrus had ever held.

Luckily, he didn't need to hold it for long. Twenty paces out of Hagrid's hut, Hydrus used a hand to rip off the Cloak.

"What are you -" Hermione began.

Professor Quirrell was on her before she could finish. He flicked his wand, and she went rigid, collapsing on the grass silently.

"Come," he said quietly. They walked together, one underneath the Disillusionment Charm, the under silvery Cloak. Hermione's motionless body and Norberta in her box floated after them, equally invisible.

They climbed the stairs all the way to the seventh floor, before Professor Quirrell stopped outside the portrait of the Fat Lady.

He set Hermione down, before casting the Memory Charm on Hermione. Her eyes seemed to cloud, and Hydrus gave her hand a last squeeze, before Professor Quirrell and he made their way to the Room of Requirement.

"Precisely on time," Professor Quirrell said, as they took a seat at their customary positions at the table. "You're done for today. The Ministry gala is in three days. Have the necessary preparations been readied?"

"Yes, sir."

All the lies, alibis - all the answers to uncomfortable questions had been rehearsed a thousand times in this room, drilled into his mind by Professor Quirrell. His dress robes were freshly laundered, shoes aptly polished by the house-elves. His Invisibility Cloak, the beautiful silvery thing, would be sewn into the inside lining of his robes, with careful stitches so that with very specific movements, Hydrus would be able to tug it out. The vial was kept with Professor Quirrell for now, but otherwise, all was ready. Except for his stomach.

It seemed to rock back and forth every time he thought of what might happen, squirming as it considered that this would be the first life he ever took.

Hydrus didn't want to do it. He wanted to go to the gala as the heir of a great House, and _leave_ as an heir, as an innocent eleven-year-old boy.

_But I can't_.

His eyes flitted down to the metal burned to his skin. Professor Quirrell had cast a spell on it, many weeks ago. There was a threat there. Unspoken, but there nevertheless.

"Sir," Hydrus said quietly.

"Go on."

His voice trembled as he spoke. "How does the poison kill?"

"Quickly. We've spoken of this many times."

"And your… your master -"

"_Our_ master, Hydrus," he said, not unkindly.

"Our master," he mumbled. "Who is he?"

His fingers pressed together. "A great man. A powerful man. A man worth following. Dispel your worries, Hydrus, for you will soon be a great lord, and lords do not suffer from such anxieties."

__(O.O)__

"Much may go wrong tomorrow," Professor Quirrell reflected out loud.

"I - I suppose so, sir."

His hands were trembling, and if not for the Dreamless Sleep potion, Hydrus wouldn't have slept a wink last night.

"Perhaps it is time…" Professor Quirrell said thoughtfully.

"Time for what, sir?"

And then from the inside of his cloak, he produced a great triangular blade in a leather sheath.

"Careful now," he said. "The edges are sharp."

His hands were still shaking as they pulled the knife free. It glowed golden-silver in the bright yellow light, and its surface was so well-oiled and smooth that Hydrus could see himself, smiling stupidly as a golden-silver man.

He was so happy that for a moment, he forgot, just for a moment, all that would happen tomorrow.

"It's very nice," he managed at last.

Professor Quirrell didn't smile back. "Should something happen to the poison, you now know what to do."

His grin was gone, and his hand dropped limply onto the table. The knife clattered noisily.

Dimly, he was aware of Professor Quirrell placing a vial in his hands. "For the dreams," he said, with a newfound softness.

When Hydrus looked down, he saw that it was twice the usual amount.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Ooh la la what a dramatic chapter.**

**Special thanks to KingZeRoPL for taking the time to complement my chapter - I'm glad you're enjoying the story so far.**

**Hydrus will definitely learn Occlumency at some point, but at the moment, he's a bit busy... :]**

**I've been thinking, since the beginning ish of the fanfic doesn't move very fast (if at all), that I want to do a mass rewrite of the entire story and clear up some of the confusion/plot holes before moving on to anything new. **

**Don't worry - I have the last two chapters written, which will conclude Part one, but I think I want to smooth out the plot before I continue on with Part 2.**

**If I were to rewrite everything, I think it would take _maybe_ four months before updated again... **

**What do you guys think?**

**Is the beginning of my book worth rewriting?**

**As always, thanks for reading and I'll see you guys next week!**

**Cheers**

**:)**


	21. Chapter 21

His hair was gelled, his robes were ironed and his black leather boots shimmering.

All Hydrus needed now was a smile to perfect his look.

Try as he might, it never came. His cheeks trembled, and his lips twisted into grimaces so bizarre that Hannah Abbott stared at him throughout the appetizer course.

There was little he could do to console himself. Narcissa sat beside him, ever the image of professionalism. Her hair was pinned back with a silver-and-green clip, and every time she smiled, perfect dimples sprouted on her cheeks. She was happier, happier than she had any right to be at a stiff Ministry event.

To his other side was Draco. He made his polite conversation with Pansy, and paid little attention to Hydrus, which he supposed was more than he deserved.

The room was filled with loud conversation, and as he took it in, his insides squeezed when he saw Belvina.

Jewels ringed her neck, wrists and fingers, glinting beautifully in the light. She sat with Andromeda, mere seats away.

The courses came and went: roasted duck, stuffed with potatoes and rosemary, beef wellington cooked to a pink medium rare, slices of bitter chocolate cake that melted on his tongue, and creme brulee, soft and creamy. There were more - plates upon plates of food that came and went, as he stared at the wall.

Throughout, Hydrus shifted awkwardly in his seat, moving to one side of the chair, then the other. The knife, the beautiful, ornately carved, silver-and-gold knife that Professor Quirrell gave him, was strapped to his side, underneath the thick folds of his robes. Sometimes, it stabbed him in the leg, other times, it tangled between his thighs. But the worst part was the weight of all of it.

The sheer moral weight, knowing that he might have to slit her throat and watch as blood sprayed all over her...

The tables were cleared, the chairs whisked away by invisible house-elves, and one by one, rich purebloods and high-up Ministerial workers began to mingle.

Hydrus stayed in the fringes of the crowd, holding a glass filled with dark purple wine. The taste was rich and thick, of sour grapes that made him wince. He had never drunk wine before, and by the third sip, his head was spinning.

It was a strange impulse that took hold of him. He could not remember ever wanting to try wine, and yet, with every sip, he only wanted more.

Lucius had forbidden him and Draco from drinking, but he was across the room, talking to Cornelius Fudge. There was no one here to stop him.

Belvina stood twenty paces away from him, in shimmering emerald robes. She was surrounded by witches and wizards. Carefully, his hand slithered into his breast pocket. The glass was cool in his fingers, and it felt heavier than it should have, as if the poison was true gold.

He drained the glass by the tenth sip, and when he set it down, Hannah Abbott was making her way to him.

After the heartfelt letter he had written to her, there were no more words passed between, for they shared no classes, and Hogwarts was so vast it was easy to get lost.

There was not much to be said between them, and Hydrus was in no fit state to make conversation. With his head pounding, he excused himself.

"Maybe drink less wine?" Hannah Abbott suggested teasingly, her blonde hair pulled into a twist.

"Yes," Hydrus said distantly.

When he got up, his legs almost collapsed under him. She was there to catch him.

Taking her help with embarrassed thanks, he steadied himself, leaning against a table, before walking off awkwardly from the room.

Absently, he took another glass of wine from a passing table of refreshments. It was a different colour this time, pink-and-yellow like a sunrise. It tasted of raspberries and lemon, like sour oranges with a queer aftertaste. Much better than the wine from before.

There were many doors in the ballroom. Two on each side, except for the very front, where a big double-door stood, decorated with carvings of greek gods and goddesses, posing lazily on the carved arch.

The rest were more practical, simple wooden things that opened with a click when he turned the knob.

Hydrus hadn't realized how stuffy the room was, until he stepped outside. His head cleared a little, and with every step he took, the wine seemed to have less of an effect on him.

The gala was held in Cornelius Fudge's manor; a great white thing that spread languorously across acres of land. The hallways were bedecked with sweet-smelling flowers, and everywhere he went, orange torches glowed with the pink sunset.

There were another four hours before the end.

Balconies dotted the hallway like honeycombs in a beehive, and Hydrus made for one of them.

Without thinking, his fingers slipped inside his breast pocket. The glass seemed warmer than it had been two hours.

When he held it in his hands, the gold seemed to glower at him, telling him to get on with it.

It was simple. Too simple, too easy.

A life should not be so easily ended.

The poison was diluted with the nectar from a bulbous poppingale, so that the reaction would be delayed by twenty-four hours.

The only way to tell if it was working, was by watching the colour of the person's eyes. They turned yellow like piss in the corners, unnoticeable if you didn't look closely. Wizards had no official name for this condition, but muggles called it jaundice.

That was all Professor Quirrell was willing to divulge about the poison.

"These festivities must not be to your taste."

It seemed Hydrus was not the only one who had enough of the stuffy atmosphere. He hadn't felt nauseous before, but now, with Professor Dumbledore walking towards him with periwinkle robes trailing in his wake… his stomach was tumbling around and doing all sorts of gymnastics.

"I suppose not, sir."

The Headmaster smiled genially. "Should you be drinking?"

"No," Hydrus said. His hand closed quietly around the vial.

Professor Dumbledore followed his motions nevertheless. "What's that you got there?"

Professor Quirrell hadn't prepared him for that question.

The lie caught in his throat, and his words came out hollow and thin. It didn't help that his head was swimming and his thoughts were lagging behind his actions. "It's... a concentrated hangover potion, sir."

"Might I see it?"

Hydrus couldn't possibly say no without looking suspicious, and try as he might, his mind couldn't come up with an excuse. His arm shook when he gave it to the Headmaster.

The vial was small, too small to be a concentrated hangover potion, whatever the hell that was.

"An interesting thing," he said. His fingers closed around the top, and suddenly, his wand was out.

A cry was on Hydrus' lips, and yet before he could say a word, a strange feeling of calmness came over him. Before he knew what was happening to him, the small flask was back in his hands, and Professor Dumbledore was saying something to him.

"Pardon, sir?"

The Headmaster smiled. "Alcohol has quite the effect on the youth of today. Do be careful, Hydrus, and try not to drink too much. I would hate for you parents to find out."

"Of course, sir," he said. His hand was shaking when he tried to take his glass of wine, and despite himself, his fingers knocked the cup off the edge of the railing, and down three floors, clattering to the ground below.

It shattered upon impact, a jarring sound that made him wince.

"Perhaps it was for the better," Professor Dumbledore said consolingly.

He swished his wand, and the mess vanished. Or at least, Hydrus thought it did. It was hard to see.

"Well," the Headmaster said, "I'll see you around, Hydrus. Do your very best to stay away from the whisky, will you?"

"Of course, sir."

When he left, Hydrus repocketed the vial. It felt lighter in his pocket, though his throat felt rather lonely without the burn of whatever it was he had been drinking.

There was music coming from a quartet of flutes and violins, playing sweet music for the boring conversations happening.

The table was being refilled with a new batch of cocktails when Hydrus came.

Seeing them made him remember just why he was here.

For the umpteenth time, his hand fingered the glass vial.

There was a ministry official not too far away - Ludo Bagman by the looks of his blonde hair and worn Quidditch look. He looked at Hydrus oddly, though his face was slack, and his movements a little shaky when he nodded.

Bagman left soon after that, joining the growing crowd at the front. The Weird Sisters - a rock band that everyone seemed to enjoy - had been invited, and everyone was capering to them, like ants to a bit of fallen pastry.

Everyone but some of the older purebloods, who looked at their younger compatriots with disdain.

This was the perfect opportunity, with almost any potential eye-witness busy waving their arms in the arm and grooving to off-tune music. His stomach squeezed uncomfortably tight.

His nail broke the wax seal before he knew what he was doing, falling onto the table. He flicked the lid open, and poured a single drop.

The whisky was the colour of dark amber, and it seemed to turn a shade lighter when the drop dissolved.

Hydrus repocketed the vial.

Belvina stood off to the side, tall and imposing despite her age. Andromeda looked almost a pauper in comparison, despite wearing the best robes gold could buy.

_Professor Quirrell was right, _Hydrus thought to himself_. Despite all that Belvina has tried to teach her, the purebloods will never take her seriously as my regent._

They were joined by another person, a fine lady wearing a stuffed vulture hat and velvet robes. Her face was pale and gaunt, wrinkled from age. Stout and severe, she looked over Hydrus critically when he walked over.

"Grandmother," he said, trying his absolute best to smile through his nerves. Belvina wasn't truly his grandmother, and more of a great-great-great grand aunt twice removed or something of that sort. "Lady Andromeda, and - you look more youthful every day, Lady Longbottom."

Augusta Longbottom looked at him appraisingly. "A fine young heir you have, Belvina. Strongly built, though a bit pale for my tastes. And those _circles_ under your eyes, dear child. Are you even sleeping at night?"

_No._ "Your words are very… kind, my lady," Hydrus told her. He was very suddenly aware of the fact that he held only two drinks in his hand. "I brought you something from the refreshments table - thought you might like it… I - I'll go get you a glass too, Lady Longbottom, I will -"

"Oh, aren't you a sweet boy. No, don't bother. My age doesn't allow for these luxuries anymore, I'm afraid."

His hand was shaking, shaking much more than it should be, when carefully, he gave the glass to Belvina. She gave him a nod in return, and Andromeda smiled and thanked him elegantly.

The wine was a deep yellow, the cups fine silverware carved with flowers. For a moment, it seemed to glow, and Hydrus felt the greasy duck he had eaten not long ago bubble in the fringes of his throat.

He wanted to yell, to scream, to tell Belvina to put her cup down, to run, to pour the poisoned wine down the drain -

And yet, she took a sip.

His heart was beating too fast, his head rushing a thousand miles an hour.

It wasn't too late.

There were antidotes to the poison, and while rare, they did exist. It wasn't too late. Hydrus could still do something. He would be arrested, there was no doubt. Thrown from the Black family like Andromeda had once been. But Belvina would live…

Sweat made his palms sticky and alcohol made his thoughts muddied.

"A fine wine," Belvina declared.

Hydrus should have walked away.

It would be easier, pretending nothing had happened, trying to forget he ever did anything. And yet…

His eyes were glued to her in a sort of morbid trace, watching as she smacked her lips with a vigour unlike her tender age.

"My heir is apt and able, Augusta," Belvina was saying. The rest of the words were lost to Hydrus, as he fought back bile.

Belvina's eyes shone with a proud sort of glint, and Hydrus never felt so hollow in his life.

He wanted to look away, to join the cluster of witches and wizards, hooting and hollering, but his feet would not move, and his eyes would not look away.

So they stared at Belvina, watching her with a wretched feeling of disgust bubbling in his throat.

Her eyes were dark as all the Blacks were, with thick lashes and a proud, unflinching stare to them. He wondered if they would sag in death; if they would be pecked from her sockets in death; if they would bleed when she died…

No. Her eyes would be yellow. Golden yellow as the poison, yellow as gold, yellow as a Lordship.

They would begin to turn soon, as the poison worked its way through her. The edges of her eyes, the tips of her nails, the hue of her skin…

Going and going, until she became a golden statue.

And still, his eyes stared.

Belvina was talking and talking, Augusta talking and talking in response. He could feel Andromeda's stare, feel her confusion, her bewilderment, wondering what was going through his mind…

Time passed, however quickly, Hydrus could not say.

The Weird Sisters strummed song after song, but he could not ever remember hearing the words.

He waited and waited, with bile and disgust scaling up his throat, waiting and waiting for the yellow to creep into her eyes…

Yet it never happened.

Cornelius Fudge came and went, so did Amelia Bones and Garjaran Goyle and so many purebloods…

Her eyes stayed white and milk pale, with thin red capillaries threading through them like crimson knives.

Hydrus felt something, something different than the barrage of loathing he had wallowed in.

It was hard to think, and yet he felt he could remember walking to that balcony, and talking to the Headmaster. He could remember dropping his cocktail, knocking it off the railing… but there was something that came before...

The Weird Sisters were strumming a new song, a particularly loud one about a witch and her broom.

From the corner of his eye, Hydrus spotted Draco and Pansy together, dancing a strange combination between a waltz and something else, that made them look half an idiot. But there was a wide smile on their faces, and if Lucius cared that his son was disgracing the Malfoy name, he said nothing.

Hydrus felt a painful smile creep onto his lips.

With a sudden burst of energy, Hydrus found Marcus Flint in the ballroom, speaking to his friends.

"I need to speak with you," he said, looking at the other fifth-years that surrounded him.

Marcus Flint straightened and set down his cup of what seemed to be firewhisky. His speech was a little too slurred for Hydrus' liking when he said, "Of course."

He led him out one of the side doors and to one of the many balconies in Fudge's manor. He looked carefully down both sides of the hallway before saying, "I need you to perform a spell for me."

"Course, m'lord."

Marcus Flint looked at him raptly, despite his drunken words.

"I need you to perform the Summoning Charm."

"Er, all right."

"I need you to summon a vial for me."

Marcus Flint fumbled with his wand.

"_Now,_" Hydrus said, with a vehemence that shocked even him.

"_Accio Hydrus' vial."_

Nothing happened.

"Try again," he barked.

Time was running out. There was only so much time before the sunset and it would be considered improper for a lady to drink.

Marcus Flint complied.

It came swirling through the air, bright golden as a Snitch.

Hydrus caught it in his hands. "Thank you," he said happily. "That's all I need."

"Er, of course."

Perhaps it was all for the better that Marcus Flint was half-drunk. Come morning, he and his friends would never remember any of it happening.

He had been to Fudge's manor half a hundred times for pointless dinners and stupid Ministry parties. There was a bathroom on the fourth floor, bigger and larger than the one on the third. More importantly, no one would be there.

It was a grand place, as much of Fudge's residence. The handles of the sink were gilded gold, and the floor was tiled with a mosaic of glittering blues and greens.

Hydrus unbuttoned the silver clasp and wrenched off his dress robes. His fingers felt clumsy and awkward as they undid the stitches, tugging here and there, until his Cloak was free.

It was soft and silver in his hands, and for a moment, memories came rushing back to him.

He had gotten this on Christmas day, so many months ago. He could almost taste the gingerbread cookies he'd shared with Hermione as they sat in the Great Hall.

Before he knew what was happening, his head was leaning over the sink, and the sour smell of old cheese filled the air.

His throat burned, and his eyes were wet with tears.

He wiped them away.

His hands were trembling when they sluiced water over his face. In the mirror, his eyes were hollow, and the purple bags under his eyes had never been more clear. Hydrus could have sworn Professor Quirrell had put a Concealment Charm to hide his sleeplessness, but it was painfully hard to remember anything that had happened more than two minutes ago.

The water was yellow and brown when Hydrus spit it out. He kept swishing the water, taking more and more mouthfuls, trying desperately to erase the taste of warm bile from his mouth.

It clung to his teeth, to his tongue, to his throat, and the taste was there, ever-present, never leaving, like bitter happiness.

Twenty minutes later, or perhaps even longer, Hydrus stumbled from the bathroom, his breath reeking of dairy gone bad.

His hair was ruffled and very unlike the smooth coiff it had once been, his face paler than fresh cream. The tops of his robe were wet, and despite having rubbed his fingers raw, there was still a sort of faint smell and a brownish tinge.

No one would have seen it, even if he went out naked.

The silvery Cloak draped across his head, dragging onto the marble floor. He moved soundlessly, invisible to the world.

He walked silently down the stairs, through the endless hallways, and past a thousand open balconies. The sky was darkening to a shade of deep purple.

His stomach was awfully tight, despite being emptied moments earlier.

As he walked through the main entrance and into the ballroom, Hydrus wondered if it was possible to puke a second time on an empty stomach.

And yet, despite all of that, his head felt clearer than it had been the entire evening. Perhaps, as he retched the content of his bowels into the sink, the wine had gone with it.

The poison inside the vial was golden as a sunset glow, the yellow of ripe, full-to-bursting lemons.

When he entered the ballroom, underneath his Cloak, the first thing he saw was the Headmaster.

His blue robes swirled like tongues of pale fire as he moved, walking here and there, talking to Ministry workers and stuffy purebloods alike. His eyes worked just as aptly as his mouth, wandering near and far, gazing over the tops of heads and studying faces whenever he could.

All pointless, of course. Hydrus was invisible.

His thumb brushed over the top of the wax seal. This was good. This meant that the vial he held in his hands was the true one.

All it would take was a drop, and then Belvina would be gone.

His hands began to shake once more, and his throat felt sour with the taste of bile.

_Your hand must not shake, nor shall it tremble. _

Carefully, Hydrus wound his way through the bodies in the room.

He ducked under elbows, skirted around greater crowds until finally, Belvina stood before him.

Her eyes looked beyond and above him, her focus fixed on some french pureblood, standing less than two feet apart.

Hydrus stood so close to both of them that if either of them dared move forward, they knock into him, and his charade would be over. He tried to stifle his breath, even if it made him feel light-headed.

His heart was pounding, his fingers were trembling...

His nail dug into the wax and broke it open with difficulty. It felt as if he had sausages for fingers, and pudding for wits.

Slowly, he lifted his hands. They would have to be visible, even if for just a moment, the less, the better.

It was done so quickly, Hydrus spilled some of it onto his fingers.

He wiped it away distractedly.

There was more than a drop in Belvina's drink, perhaps two or three, but it dissolved quick as mist, until the golden drops could not be seen any longer.

For a moment, he could have sworn Belvina saw him. Her eyes shifted down, and she blinked. Then his hand was gone.

Hydrus clamped the lid back on.

The Cloak muffled the click, but it could still be heard.

Glancing over worriedly at Belvina, half expecting her to call out his name, Hydrus stuffed the small vial into a pocket on his robes.

He glanced around the room. The music was loud and not a person looked at him.

Only the Headmaster, roving across the floor like one of those muggle lawnmowers, seemed out of place.

Hydrus watched him off to the side of the room.

His eyes roved across faces and jewels, and stopped not far from Hydrus.

For a moment, he thought he had been spotted.

But then the Headmaster was walking to Belvina, with his bright blue eyes glued to her.

Hydrus took careful steps forward, until he could see her front.

He thought he knew why the Headmaster was rushing to Belvina.

Her veiny hands had a yellowish tint to them, and when Hydrus looked at her eyes, the corners were yellow like the pale golden rays of a rising sun.

Did he know the symptoms of this particular poison?

Most likely not, but the Headmaster was well-versed in the vocabulary of muggle medical terms. Jaundice was easy to see if you looked for it.

"I must talk to you," Professor Dumbledore said to Belvina.

She regarded him with a look between contempt and polite indifference. "Well, go on, Headmaster."

Professor Dumbledore looked at her urgently. "We must speak in private, if you may, my lady."

"What sort of thing could possibly be so urgent that you need speak to me at such a time?"

Belvina had never truly forgiven the Headmaster for attempting to adopt the heir to House Black as a ward of Hogwarts. Coupled with his overly sensitive muggle views, there had never truly been much love there.

Tonight, it would be his saving grace.

"Please, my lady," Professor Dumbledore said. It sounded close to pleading. Hydrus hoped to Merlin that Belvina would rebuke him with a swift wave of her hand. "It is of the utmost importance."

"My friend Élise DuBlanc is a _very_ fascinating madam, Headmaster Dumbledore, and you'll have to excuse me if I take her delightful company over yours."

"Belvina," the Headmaster tried, "this is about Hydrus."

He wanted to curse aloud.

There was a strange sort of panic going through him, and as his thoughts jumbled and bumped against each other, streaming through his mind, Hydrus did the only thing he could think of.

In all of his trepidation, the golden knife came free of its scabbard, and his hand moved so quickly, he could not remember a thing he did.

And yet, before he knew what had happened, Belvina was clutching her side. Something red was gushing between her fingers, spraying across the floor like fine mist. She fell to her knees, and as she groaned and gasped, Professor Dumbledore was at her side, barking orders in a loud, commanding voice.

Hydrus stumbled away as a crowd of people were suddenly gathering. His hands were shaking and warm with sweat - no that wasn't it. There was something on his hands, wet and runny and warm as a summer day.

He ran out the door.

The Cloak flapped wildly around his ankles, sending billows of fabric into the air.

Hydrus ripped it off. Perhaps there was someone in the hallway, but Hydrus did not care. His heart was thumping in his chest, his throat thick with something sour…

There was blood on his hands. So much blood. It slithered over his hands like thin red worms, dripping all over his Cloak and his pants - and he needed to clean himself up.

His hands left a red print on the doorknob when he ran to the bathroom, and the cold water turned pink as it flowed down the drain.

Hydrus repressed the urge to vomit, swallowing the sour bile that cluttered the base of his throat.

He was running again, before he knew what was happening.

His Cloak was stuffed into the pockets of his robes, and his golden-silver knife was back in its scabbard, bumping against his thigh as he ran.

The music had been loud and obnoxious. Now, there was a new sort of ambience in the room.

It was a strange sort of hysteria that entrapped them all. They were all so busy talking, whispering, chattering, crying, that no one even saw Hydrus.

He slipped to the fringes of the crowd, where he found Hannah Abbott, crying as if there were no tomorrow.

Hydrus did not understand. She hadn't even known Belvina. Where were all the tears coming from?

Yet his hands moved to comfort her, and his mouth was saying pointless words of sympathy. _This is good,_ Hydrus thought, as she got his hundred-galleon robes wet. _This way, if Narcissa or Lucius come asking for me, I can tell them where I was all this time… yes this is good… very, very good._

"I am so sorry," Hannah Abbott was sobbing, "you - you must have been so close to her… and to think… oh, this was _terrible_. I…"

It was strange. Through the thick press of bodies, Hydrus could not even see Belvina. He felt numb.

Hannah Abbott clutched his shoulder for the rest of the evening, as Narcissa hurried to his side, as Draco squeezed his hand and as Daphne loitered back, scared away by Lucius' fierce glare.

"Come," Lucius said quietly. "Let's go home."

The Headmaster was walking towards their little group, his fingers pressed together. "Lord Malfoy, Lady Malfoy, Lord Greengrass, Lady Greengrass, Hydrus, Daphne, Hannah. I must offer my sympathies, but understand that now more than ever, I must ask that you return to Hogwarts -"

Narcissa rounded on him like a rearing snake. "I don't think so."

"You must understand that with the given situation -"

"A close family friend has recently been severely injured. You'll need to excuse me if my sons don't come along."

The last place Hydrus wanted to be was in Hogwarts, where the Headmaster could study him as he crawled around the school, helpless as a bug.

But Hermione was there, and he wanted to see her desperately.

"It's all right, mother," he said formally. "In a time like this, I think spending time with my friends at Hogwarts would be… beneficial."

Narcissa frowned. She was thinking of Hermione and her blood-status, Hydrus was certain. "In a time like this, are you quite sure?"

"Yes, mother."

Hannah Abbott was there, and so was Daphne and her parents and Professor Dumbledore. Narcissa could hardly call Hermione out on her blood-status with such an audience.

A funeral had to be planned, along with other bureaucratic things. To arrange for his ascension to Lordship, to arrange for countless meetings with Gringotts to… she didn't have time for this.

"One day," Narcissa told him. "And then you'll come home, all right?"

"Of course, mother."

She hugged him, Lucius pat his shoulder and Andromeda embraced him as if he were his son.

"I'll see you guys… soon," Hydrus said.

And with a sad silence, the group left Fudge's manor through a portkey.

They reappeared back in the Headmaster's office, with not a word said between them.

"Today has been a difficult day," Professor Dumbledore began, "and should any of you require emotional support, my door is always open. Your Heads of Houses have been notified of the current events, and I ask that you try your best to tell as little people as possible of what has happened, until further notice."

That would never happen.

"Rest easy, everyone," he said. "Belvina Black is a strong witch, and I am certain she shall make a strong recovery."

The Headmaster said some more words, other meaningless sympathies, but Hydrus could not hear him.

He left the Headmaster's office when everyone else did, and made his way to the seventh floor, where the Gryffindors looked at him oddly, as Hydrus stood in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady.

He turned to Neville Longbottom. "Can you… can you tell Hermione I'm here?"

"I -" His round, pudgy face flushed pink. "All right."

How long Hydrus stood in front of the portrait, he did not know, but Neville Longbottom looked just about to shit his pants when he came clambering through the portrait hole.

"S-s-he…" he stuttered, "she's not th-the-ere."

"She's not there," Hydrus repeated. A cold, trickling feeling was flowing down his back. "Are you absolutely _sure_?"

"Y-y-es," he squealed.

Hydrus sprinted down the hallway, leaving Neville Longbottom standing there, his mouth hanging open.

_She could be in the library, _he tried to tell himself. _It's not too late yet -_

There was a window Hydrus passed. The sky was the dark, fading colour of a bloody sunset.

_It's still possible. She could have lost track of time_.

Hermione wasn't in the library.

Somewhere far away, a clock tolled nine times.

Hydrus let loose a string of filthy curses, and ducked into an abandoned classroom. His Cloak seemed to glow silver in the moonlight, the specks of blood like dark splotches of lichen.

There was no time to wonder if he would still be invisible with stains on the Cloak.

Hydrus flipped it over his head and worked his way through all seven floors of Hogwarts.

Hermione wasn't _there_.

Not on the fifth floor, where they had found the mirror, not on the fourth floor, where they took their Charms class, not on the sixth floor, or the third, or the second, or the first…

Hydrus had a horrible, sinking feeling when he stopped opposite the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy.

Of course, Professor Quirrell would want to see him. Hermione was a bargaining tool.

The thought brought a feeling of queasiness to his stomach.

There was a door.

A simple wooden door, with a silver knob.

When he pushed it open, she was there.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Well it seems the people have spoken!**

**I've decided to continue the story _and_ rewrite the earlier chapters! ("Is that a good idea with finals so close by?" you may ask. The answer is no. Hope I don't fail :3)**

**Special thanks to juiiejo and KingZeRopL for taking the time to write a review of my story!**

**'Slow start' probably doesn't do the beginning justice XD**

**And yeah, Hermione's face is still burned. I will admit, I haven't been mentioning it in a lot of the more recent chapters (another reason why I'm still gonna do a mass rewrite), and as for future plans with her... hmm... who knows?**

**I intend for this book to stay firmly 'T' rated, and if it ever changes to Mature, that'll only be from the violence. _For now_. As it currently stands, Hydrus Malfoy will die alone with no woman by his side :'(**

**As for the third part of your question... well I can't answer that directly... **

**I will say though, that I've been drawing a lot of inspiration for the future events of this fanfic from ASOIAF so... yeah... stuff will happen :)**

**Also - oh man I can't believe I almost forgot to mention - WE'VE REACHED 69 FOLLOWERS. Wtf is wrong with me.**

**Thanks for reading,**

**And I hope to see you guys next week :]**

**Cheers**


	22. Chapter 22

"It wasn't meant to happen this way," he told him quietly.

For a moment, it seemed as if he were going to rest a hand on Hydrus' shoulder. Then, his arm jerked back.

Hydrus said nothing in response. His hands were shaking, trembling, twitching, as they cradled her head. Pink skin, mottled and burned, like jagged strikes of lightning crept all along her lips, her eyes, her nose. They seemed starker than before.

"The traps surrounding the stone were almost pitiful," Professor Quirrell continued in the same tone as before. "Easily swept away by more advanced magic. Juvenile things, a live chessboard, floating keys, a troll… I do believe the Headmaster truly intended for you to search for the stone..."

There were scars on Hermione's hand; thin, rough lines that crisscrossed through her palm, twining on her fingers. They had been treated, Hydrus could see. As he watched, the edges of her skin seemed to knit themselves together. Slowly, but surely.

There would still be scars. Perhaps not physical.

"All of the traps were easy, too easy. I always knew the Headmaster was a bumbling fool, but never one of such calibre. Until the last one."

Hydrus looked up, despite himself.

"It was a mirror," Professor Quirrell said. "A mirror you've found once, yourself."

"The mirror of Erised," Hydrus said flatly. The carpet underneath him was soft as a pretty lie, and never in his life had he ever wanted more to drape himself with it.

"There was no way to retrieve the stone without a foreign mind, another mind who did not want the stone for any selfish reason. A particular enchantment, I'm sure the Headmaster was extraordinarily proud of finding. Useless, of course, when a third party is involved."

"It could have been _anyone,_" Hydrus roared. "_Any_ student and they would have done the deed."

"That is true," Professor Quirrell admitted, "but I needed to see you, and what better way, than to hold your friend hostage?"

"I'm here," he said tonelessly.

"You are," Professor Quirrell agreed. "And we have much to speak about."

Hydrus squeezed his eyes shut. "I can still feel it," he whispered.

His hands shook. For a moment, he could almost see the blood once more. He had scrubbed his hands raw, once in that bathroom, and a second time in the Room of Requirement. And yet, there was a sort of sick, iron-like, bloody smell to his hands. The more he tried to not think of it, the more he thought it smelt of Belvina and her fine pureblood perfumes.

"Well, go on, Hydrus. Tell me all that happened."

Hydrus looked at the metal welded into his skin. With one hand resting on Hermione's bushy hair, and the other fingering the cursed piece of metal welded into his skin, Hydrus told him all that happened.

His voice was hoarse and brittle, and as he went on, his strength seemed to leave him.

For a long time, Professor Quirrell did not speak. "All is not lost," he said at last.

If it was meant to be consoling, Hydrus could not tell.

"Belvina will be dead by sunrise." There was no uncertainty in his voice. "Albus Dumbledore knows as much. In a couple of days, perhaps less, you'll be summoned to Gringotts. Until then, you must dispel any of the Headmaster's worries. Grieve for Belvina, do not hesitate to shake and tremble for the rest of tomorrow. The Headmaster will be watching you carefully - he cast an Impulsion Charm on your food, did you know? That alone might have thwarted all our plans."

_"_You knew it was going to happen," Hydrus said.

"Well." He shrugged. "The Headmaster had his suspicions, and he's not very confrontational, as you may have noticed."

Hermione's head lay limp and slack in his arms. Her chest rose with every breath. Hydrus looked to Professor Quirrell. "When will she wake?"

"Half an hour now, perhaps less." He looked at Hydrus. "You will be gone by then, better, I assure you, if you aren't there when she wakes."

"No," Hydrus said. He had a sudden horrible, sick feeling. He could almost sense it. "What - what did you do to her?"

"When you become Lord of House Black, you'll need to put aside your worries." His hand reached out, and almost lovingly, he caressed his cheek. "Lift your chin, Hydrus Malfoy. In a week, the dawn of a new era shall commence."

__(O.O)__

She looked proud and proper, even in death. Her pale, bony hands were wrapped around a silver-and-gold chalice, studded with purple amethysts so dark they were almost black. Someone had brushed her dark hair, knotting them into a careful twist. Violets, in the prime of their bloom, were weaved into the threads of her braid, and yet, nothing could hide the strange, papery listlessness of her locks. They hung limp and dead, almost grey. No amount of flowers, jewels or refinery could ever hide age.

Her dress was black-and-purple Acromantula silk, studded with clear diamonds and dark sapphires. She glittered in the yellow light, almost alive with golden blue tongues of fire.

The purebloods came one by one, holding batches of daffodils and lavender, rhododendrons and white lilies. Pale pink orchids and bright purple aster, deep orange calendula and other flowers - flowers of all colours, all shapes and all sizes.

One by one, they set them around her wooden coffin, wiping away fake tears, nodding to Hydrus, shaking his hand, mumbling pointless words of condolence…

Many he didn't know by face, even less he knew by name. Still, they acted as if they were close friends. Nothing had ever felt so hollow to him in his life.

The purebloods were all vying for his favour; for the favour of the new Lord Black.

Hydrus thanked them one-by-one, with a tired smile on his face.

His thoughts were a wreck, a barrage of curses and tears. He did not want to be here - to be in the midst of these gawking people, crooned upon by everyone.

He wanted to be at Hogwarts, with Draco and Daphne and Hermione, sitting by the Great Lake under a glowing sun.

_But that will never happen, will it?_

For the first time, in a very long time, a tear fell from his eye.

It ran down his left cheek and splattered onto his shoe.

_This is bad,_ he told himself, as he shook the hand of a wizard. _I should have cried in the privacy at home, to dispel any wonderings about my involvement with Belvina's strange death. Not here, not where everyone wants a strong future lord to work with._

He blinked the last of his sadness away.

For the rest of the day, Hydrus Malfoy did not cry.

__(O.O)__

They set the circlet on his head, as a hundred hungry, greedy wolves watched, each with a face as blank as yellow parchment.

In the front row sat close family and friends to the deceased: Narcissa, Lucius, Draco, Andromeda, Ted, Nymphadora and nameless, faceless purebloods.

Daphne wasn't there in the crowd, and neither were any of the Greengrasses.

The room was high and elegant as befit the rights of a lord. Marble and gold, ever-present, swirled through the room - on the chairs, on the floor, on the ceiling, the candles… almost the same gold as the knife, the shining, oiled knife...

Hydrus stood quiet and still, on a raised platform above everyone else, with his eyes watching a point off in the far distance, above all the spectator's heads.

"As the old fade, the young shall take its place… Today, on the fateful day of the eleventh of April, of the year one thousand nine hundred and ninety-two, in the name of Merlin and all that is just, I hereby name Hydrus Malfoy, scion of House Malfoy, heir to House Black and child of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy as Lord Black."

The goblin's voice was deep and steady, his hands steadier as they placed the circlet on his head.

A rush of applause burst into the room.

The metal was cool on his forehead, and for a moment, it helped with his ever-present headache.

He knew how foolish he must have looked, a tiny, scrawny boy despite all his exercises, draped in a glorified silk bath towel, with a ring of silver and bronze twining around his head, as prickly as the Black House. The very front was a hunk of large, almost black amethyst, carved to resemble a fearsome crow, much like the _corvus_. Hydrus suspected it looked more like a newly hatched chick on him.

Slowly, when the applause died down, he stepped down from the raised platform.

His footsteps were slow, careful, and practiced. For a moment, he could almost hear Professor Quirrell's voice.

"_Lift your chin, Hydrus Malfoy. In a week, the dawn of a new era shall commence."_

He lifted his chin.

Hours later, days later, Hydrus could not remember how he did it.

He could not remember how he stood for so long, beside Belvina's coffin, beside the flowers, beside all of it - the lies, the schemes…

He could not remember how he stood so strong, wearing a circlet that he did not deserve.

It seemed to think the same way, almost cursing the new Lord Black as it grew heavier and heavier by the passing hour.

His neck burned with fearsome pain, and never had Hydrus Malfoy wanted to rip something off and throw it to the floor.

Yet still he stood, until they - the savage, hungry wolves - were all gone from the room, and it was Lucius and Narcissa and Draco and Andromeda by his side.

"Here," Narcissa said quietly. Her hands made to take the circlet from his head.

"No," Lord Black told her.

She looked at him almost sadly. "You have been very brave today, Hydrus. Set the crown down, my son."

_It's a circlet, not a crown, _Hydrus wanted to say._ The last Black Kings were alive a thousand years past._ _Let me wear it please, Narcissa if only to feel the pain, and make me pay for what I've done._

He wore it through dinner, past sunset, as the clouds turned pink and purple.

He wore it as his neck burned with agony, as his shoulders were stiff as unyielding stones.

Until finally, the sky turned black and he took it off.

He set it down on his desk, on a cushion of fine red velvet embroidered with golden lace.

That night, Hydrus did not sleep.

He rolled in bed and cried silent tears. Tears of horror, tears of shame, tears of sadness, tears that wished for a better world.

For the days after, as Lord Black attended events and meetings, he wore the circlet on his forehead, bearing the ever-present pain with a raised chin.

The purple, fearsome, new-born chick cawed its silent curse.

When he was alone, Hydrus wore the circlet too, never sitting, always standing, with his arms at his sides, and a proper, calm look upon his face… until the feeling would be too much, and all of it overwhelmed him and…

He would race to the bathroom, with his hands clamped over his mouth.

During those moments, as he ran, the purple chick would slip down his forehead, for the intricate twines of silver and bronze were made for a bigger head than his.

He would hold the purple chick in his right hand, to stop it from falling into the dirtied waters. It seemed to resent him for it, as if it would rather die than be worn by a kinslayer. The purple chick cursed his fingers with silent pricks here and there, for the circlet was goblin-made, and those fine, sharp edges that were his beak would never dull with time. His palm would be covered in all sorts of bright red lines by the time he was done.

Afterwards, flushing the toilet and drying the last of his tears, Lord Black would walk back to his room, his chin held high, his shoulders pushed down.

He practiced wearing it during every moment that he was awake, bearing his aching neck and throbbing shoulders with a quiet, painful grace.

One day, two days later, and the ache started to lessen.

On the third day, Hydrus went to the family library, the ring of silver and bronze ever-present on his forehead.

It was an old place, filled with the smell of old leather and papery scrolls. The great windows, shaped as diamonds showed a black sky. The books were bound in all sorts of materials, teeming with dark spells so brutal they could…

Hydrus could not stomach the thought, not after all he had done.

His hands were shaking as they swept over the spines of each tome. He had seen the ones Professor Quirrell needed, seen where they were - only Dobby had been dusting the shelves and would have seen him. No one could know about this.

There were many books in the Hogwarts library, some as old as its name, yet none that contained any information on how to brew the Elixir of Life.

The Malfoy library, however, was filled with ponderous tomes on dark spells and curses, rituals and histories that might have otherwise been outlawed by a more sensible Ministry.

There were three books in all, thick and filled with yellowed pages. His arms were burning - burning and shaking as Hydrus made his way out of the library.

The Cloak was draped over his head, the silvery material flowing around him like water. There were two ways to leave the manor: the normal, non-magical way, or by Floo.

If he hadn't been carrying three heavy books in his arms, Hydrus might have been able to scale down the building from his bedroom window. But there were wards - there always were - and Lucius would be on him before he made it past the gates.

The Floo was easier.

There were records kept, but his parents had never truly cared for checking those things.

Hydrus made his way down the hallway, the books in hand, his heart beating erratically.

The fireplace was a large thing, made of marble and studded with precious gems, elegant in a way only rich purebloods would approve of.

He grabbed a pinch of Floor Powder.

The flames turned the colour of lime, and the world seemed to hold its breath as Hydrus whispered, "_The Three Broomsticks."_

He stepped in.

There was no heat, but the ashes and smoke made him gag. For the hundredth time that week, Hydrus almost retched the remains of his last meal.

He emerged in a quiet pub, where a fire was always kept lit.

For a moment, it lit the room with a greenish glow, and a tomcat, turned the colour of a rotting lime, hissed and scampered across the place.

The night was cool, filled with the distant sounds of hooting owls and orange torches that lit the main walkways of Hogsmeade.

Professor Quirrell waited for him in the Shrieking Shack, a ragged structure, made of crumbling bricks and rotting wood. It was situated in a far corner of Hogsmeade, separated from the rest by a series of grassy hills. The older students of Hogwarts sometimes spoke of the legendary howls that could be heard on stormy nights.

If there was one thing that couldn't hurt Hydrus, it was ghosts.

He pushed open the creaking door and made his way into the living room. The walls were scratched with deep gouges, the floor covered in scratches. A couch had once sat facing a window, but it had been torn to bits and pieces by a monstrous creature.

He should have been afraid, and yet, in his hands were the power to incinerate any beast.

Professor Quirrell stepped from the shadows, his purple turban glowing silver in the moonlight. "How have you been?"

Hydrus didn't know what to say. Yesterday, with his circlet still around his forehead, he had spent most of his time in the bathroom, trying desperately to clamp his mouth shut and force down the bile rushing up his throat.

The day before… he could not feel a thing.

His neck had burned, but Hydrus could not bring himself to_ feel_ the pain.

"I'm alright."

He took off the Cloak.

Professor Quirrell studied him with his pale eyes. They met his face, and then studied the creased black robes Hydrus wore. They travelled back up, and then to the gleaming purple chick.

In his eyes was something strange - an odd sort of understanding, when he saw the circlet.

No one had looked at him in that particular way when Hydrus had insisted on wearing the band of bronze and silver. Not Narcissa, not Lucius and not even Draco.

But Professor Quirrell did.

He understood, in his own strange, twisted way.

"Hold your chin high, Hydrus Malfoy," Professor Quirrell said. And then, from the inner pockets of his robes, he drew a box. His hands were strangely reverent as they placed it in Hydrus' own.

When he opened it, he saw a collection of vials.

It was impossible to tell the colour in such harsh lighting, and yet, Hydrus knew what they were. He shouldn't be taking them. Addictions were easy to develop with potions like this.

But if it meant sleep...

__(O.O)__

A week later, Hydrus went back to Hogwarts.

A letter had come for him that morning, delivered by a brown school owl with a purple tag around its left talon. The words were curt and impassioned, written by a most average hand-writing.

On it was written three words: _come to me_.

Hydrus desperately wanted to see Hermione, for he hadn't seen her bushy brown hair and bright smile in so very long, but his feet were walking, walking to Professor Quirrell in his office.

In silence, they made their way to the Room of Requirement.

The place was waiting for them: the long table filled with scrolls and quills, the tall glass windows that streamed with golden light, and the chandeliers that were never lit.

Hydrus took a long moment to study Professor Quirrell. The last time he had seen him… he could not explain the queer emotions bubbling in his stomach.

Today, his bronze-and-silver circlet was gone from his forehead, returned to Gringotts. No matter how much he begged Narcissa and Andromeda, they would not allow him to wear the twined circlet.

Nevertheless, it left its mark, a reddish impression that hugged his forehead, a myriad of fading scars from all the times it had cut his skin.

"You're holding yourself with greater confidence, now than before," Professor Quirrell told him. There was a pause. "How fares Andromeda?"

She had cried much, though admittedly less than Hydrus expected. She would sometimes show up to the meetings with Gringotts with a pale complexion and reddish eyes.

Narcissa had taken her aside many times, Hydrus knew, to speak of her lacking composure.

Spending those years living in the muggle world with her muggle-born husband had made her soft to pureblood tradition, even if it had been five years past.

_"They whisper behind your back, sister,_" she had said quietly to Andromeda. Hydrus heard her nonetheless. "_Marrying a mudblood, and now to rule House Black? They would not have protested with Belvina as head of the House. Now, I cannot say. Dry your tears, sister, or cry if you'd like, and watch as they whisper and laugh of a blood-traitor ruling an Ancient and Noble House. But know this: my son does not deserve to have his legacy ripped to pieces before he even comes of age."_

Andromeda had made an effort to hide her tears after that.

Still, it was Hydrus who worked twice as hard to stand with his chin tilted up and hold his circlet with ease and grace.

Nothing Aldebaran Rowle had ever taught him could compare to standing in front of a group of wolves, watching as they all judged a new pup.

_It was a mistake to stay at Hogwarts for the Winter Break, _Lord Black had thought to himself, and not for the first time. _I should have gone home, even if to attend the stuffy Yule Ball._

"She's doing alright," Hydrus told him, which wasn't entirely a lie.

"Excellent to hear," Professor Quirrell said, looking as if nothing in the world were so boring. His hand fetched something from his pocket, before setting it in front of Hydrus. It was a red stone, that looked somewhat akin to a ruby - red as fresh, dripping blood, cut into a jagged, yet smooth shape.

The Philosopher's Stone.

"Sir," Hydrus said slowly, "have you… ?"

"Not here, no," Professor Quirrell said. There was a glint in his eye. "The Headmaster listens in on all we say. Later. After you go see Hermione, come to the third classroom from the entrance to your common room."

"Have… have you managed to do it, sir?"

The red stone, as jagged as the bronze-and-silver circlet, disappeared under his fist. "Go see Hermione, Hydrus."

__(O.O)__

She jumped into his arms when he found her, sitting in the library in their usual corner with a great pile of books.

"You're _back_," she said happily.

"I am," he agreed.

Hydrus looked over her carefully. That last time he had seen her, Hermione had been lying down on a carpet, in the Room of Requirement.

A part of him thought some traumas couldn't be completely erased and a part of him, a part that grew greater with every passing day, worried for her mind.

Her eyes were brown, bright with excitement. But there was something…

"How are you?" Hydrus asked.

She seemed to hesitate. "Well. I've been so lonely without you… but you - how are you, Hydrus?"

Was it possible that Professor Quirrell - for all that he had ever done - was it possible that he had tortured her? Broken her mind through and patched it together with magic? He had been too scared to ask all those days ago, but now…

"I've been alright, I suppose. D'you want to go outside?"

The sun was high in the sky, and the lake glimmered golden yellow.

He watched as Hermione collected her belongings. She gathered her quills, packed away her textbooks, and when it came time to roll up her essay, Hydrus noticed something.

"Your writing is messier than it usually is."

Her letters, too, had been written in a subpar penmanship Hydrus knew she would never have settled for. Some part of him suspected… he had read about the curse, but Professor Quirrell, he would never use it on a student… would he?

Hermione flushed. "I was… I didn't want to tell you," she mumbled. "I've been having trouble writing - my hand has been shaking, I don't understand why, but I can't write any of my essays anymore. It's…" Hermione looked away. "It's embarrassing, really. I've had to ask for an extension on all of my assignments I -"

Hydrus tried to steele his nerves. "Have you asked Madame Pomfrey to take a look at them?"

"No," Hermione admitted. She looked down. "I think I'm just tired."

He looked underneath her eyes. Purple-ish bags were beginning to form, but that could have meant anything…

_Some traumas can't be erased,_ he thought to himself_. It's entirely possible to come back through dreams..._

"Treat yourself," Hydrus told her. "You'll pass your exams, I'm sure. Listen, the house-elves can whip up an incredible batch of ice cream, and I'm sure we can find a place outside to eat it."

True to his words, the house-elves managed to ready a large boat, filled with all sorts of coloured scoops of ice cream.

"We'll never be able to eat all of this!" Hermione cried.

They found a large cedar, and after Hydrus spread his robes onto the grass, they shared the bowl.

"I think you should see Pomfrey," Hydrus told her.

He watched as she scooped every bite.

Her hand _was_ shaking.

Hermione shook her head resolutely. "You're right," she said. "I'm stressed about the exams."

He looked into her eyes.

She didn't believe it.

Not one bit.

"Perhaps you should go to bed," Hydrus tried tentatively, even though he knew - some part of him was so sure, so certain -

Hermione set down the spoon. "I can't sleep at night."

_There it comes_. "Do you want… to talk about it, perhaps, or -?"

Hermione looked far away, to the golden lake and the mountains beyond. "There's a man in my dreams… he keeps… he keeps asking me to look into this thing… this _mirror_. I keep telling him I can't - I can't see a thing because it's all dark, except for him, and he's pale, this grotesque _face_ with red eyes and -"

She was shaking now, her body trembling like a leaf blown by harsh winds.

"I think you should see Pomfrey," Hydrus told her slowly, _and pray to Merlin that she can do something about the curse._

"I keep telling it I can't see this… this _stone_ \- but - but…" Hermione seemed not to hear him. "It did something to me. Pain, pain like…"

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Tears leaked through, dripping down her cheeks and onto her robes.

For a long time, they sat there together, as the sky turned blood red, and as Hermione wiped the last of her tears.

The ice cream was a puddle of red and blue and brown, swirled into a mess of colours.

Hydrus held it in one hand as he guided her to the Infirmary.

Madame Pomfrey flew on them as they walked in, her arms full with blankets. "Why, what happened to her?" She set them aside hurriedly and approached Hermione. "Oh, Miss Granger… come… come…"

She led them to a nearby cot, where they carried her onto the mattress.

"I'm alright," Hermione insisted, her voice hoarse from crying, "I'm fine, _really_, Madame, I swear it -"

Hydrus stood off to the side as Madame Pomfrey began waving her wand, swishing it here and there… lights flashing…

She stopped suddenly.

Even Hermione stopped her rambling to look up. "Madame?"

Madame Pomfrey blinked and then shook herself. "Nothing, only… chronic sleep-deprivation. Here, Miss Granger -" she brought a clear vial from her pockets, filled with a dark purple liquid… "Dreamless Sleep Potion, Miss Granger," she said, when Hermione inched away, "nothing more -"

"I won't dream?"

"No, Miss Granger. No dreams."

Her head was shaking as she swallowed.

Her eyes fluttered shut, and for once, a look of peacefulness descended across her strained features.

In silence, Madame Pomfrey took off Hermione's shoes and robes, before pulling a blanket over her.

Then, she turned to Hydrus.

"What happened to her?"

The words were at the tip of his tongue, for he knew, he knew, he knew from the second he saw her trembling fingers, saw her pale visage.

"I - I -"

"Were you experimenting on her?"

"_No!"_

"Then I don't understand, Mister Malfoy, how something of this sort could ever happen to Miss Granger."

"It's…" A lie would not come to his mind. There was nothing, nothing in the world to possibly explain how it might have happened. "She got cursed, by some… Slytherins…"

The lie was a feeble, scrawny thing, but Madame Pomfrey ate it up quickly.

Her face went pale like curdled milk. "No," she whispered. She turned to Hydrus. "I must talk to the Headmaster. You - you must excuse me, Mister Malfoy -"

"It's the Cruciatus Curse, isn't it?"

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

Madame Pomfrey stopped suddenly. "Yes."

"Can't you do something for her? A spell? A potion? A salve? Or -"

"I truly am sorry. You - you must excuse me, Hydrus. The Headmaster _must_ be informed."

Madame Pomfrey ran from the room.

For a long time after she left, Hydrus did not leave Hermione's side.

The room was lit by candles and braziers, giving a warm, hearty glow to the large room. Some part of him, a distant, faraway part of his mind remembered the red eyes, and how they burned him alive in his dreams.

Pain was a horrible thing.

He squeezed Hermione's hand.

There were footsteps outside, loud and urgent, thundering down the hallway.

Hydrus looked up, just as the doors banged open.

Professor Dumbledore strode into the room, Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall marching in his wake.

"Are you absolutely certain, Poppy?" he was saying, his robes swirling with each purposeful step. "My wards would have informed me of any such occurrence -"

"Yes, I'm sure, Albus! This isn't the first time I've treated victims of the Cruciatus Curse and…"

They stopped in front of Hermione's cot. Professor McGonagall looked at Hydrus with a strange sort of sympathy in her eyes. "Mister Malfoy, I understand that this has been quite a tumultuous week, but I must ask that you leave as we conduct a thorough investigation into the matter."

A sudden thought came to him.

Was this why he had chosen Hermione?

It couldn't be. The thought was absurd… no… but that might work…

"Hydrus," Madame Pomfrey tried, "Hermione is in safe hands. You need not worry."

A part of him knew, knew that ought to get going… Professor Quirrell was waiting for him…

_What are you _thinking_? He's the one that cursed Hermione_…

A sudden sick feeling was worming through him, one that made him want to retch, to collapse in a fit of cramps…

_You are so naive, so stupid, _Hydrus thought furiously. Tears were making their slow, laborious way down his face, but he never would have felt it. _He never was going to leave Hermione alone, not Draco, not Daphne… I shouldn't go tonight, I never should have gone I -_

And yet, he was moving from the chair he'd pulled up beside Hermione's cot, walking out the Infirmary.

_Defiance today, and uncertainty tomorrow… that will not do._

He did not know where those thoughts came from.

Perhaps the child; the selfish, wandering, uncertain child had died inside of him as Belvina had.

He was carrying more than his own interests.

Hydrus carried the legacy of House Black upon his meagre shoulders.

_Andromeda may be my regent, but the purebloods will never look at her with the same respect as they may grudgingly owe me. Hermione, Draco, Daphne - they may all die by his hand for all I know, and yet, they will for sure if I defy this monster. _

He was running now, running into the Slytherin common room, to his room, where he found his dormmates - his dormmates that he had not spoken to in weeks - readying for bed.

Lord Black found his Cloak at the bottom of his trunk. He looked around the dorm room that he spent so little time inside.

Draco was pulling on his pyjamas, his silver hair strung in odd directions. Theodore Nott was busy scribbling away on a piece of parchment. Neither looked up when Hydrus went to fetch his Cloak.

He ran to the third classroom, a dusty place filled with desks that were new when Hogwarts had been founded.

Professor Quirrell was waiting for him, standing so still Hydrus might have walked right by him.

"And so the Headmaster knows," he said, his voice quiet.

Disgust flowed through him, thick with something else. "He does."

"And now we must be going." Professor Quirrell strode to the door. "We have perhaps a quarter of an hour, a little more, before the Aurors come to arrest me. Come along now, Hydrus."

The Cloak was over him in a second, and in another, they were running down the hallway.

A voice was blaring throughout the hallways, the mighty, soft voice of Albus Dumbledore, commanding the students to return to the dormitories immediately, to stay there and await further instruction, commanding prefects to take charge, commanding a headcount to be done -

They arrived at the statue of the one-eyed witch as they had done a thousand times before.

"They'll see that I'm gone," Hydrus said, as they climbed through the trap door and into Honeydukes. The hour was late, and there were no more than a handful of wizards in the large store.

"They will," Professor Quirrell agreed.

And Lord Black knew that he was right.

He changed colour with the background, yet skirted the edges of the shop regardless. It was hard to see - impossible almost - yet Hydrus thought he saw his eyes sparkle with a sort of genius to his plan. The last time he had seen such a sparkle… had been a week before, as Hydrus had cradled Hermione's unconscious head. He felt his gut clench at the thought.

In the far distance, Hogwarts was a black fortress, lit by silver moonlight. There might be chaos in the castle, a group of thundering Aurors with brown robes barrelling down the hallway, and yet, it would be impossible to tell at such a distance.

The night was cool and calm, and they slowed down from their run.

"Lancashire Lane," the professor said. He must have cancelled the charm, for he came to view suddenly, his arm glowing a faint silver as it pointed to the south. His head swivelled around, and for a moment, seemed to narrow in on something in the distance.

"What is it?" Lord Black demanded.

"Aurors," the professor said. His voice carried in the quiet stillness. He tapped his wand onto his head and disappeared from view. "Quickly, quickly. Unless you'd like to test your non-existent magical skill."

It was a wordless sprint that they broke into, their feet pounding quietly on the stone road.

The professor had stopped suddenly. Hydrus hadn't even known until he heard his name being called from half a block away.

He came into view, glowing silver in the moonlight.

It was an empty lot that they looked at, with nothing but grass and a bit of mud -

"Fourth Lancashire Lane," the professor whispered, leaning so close to Hydrus, he almost gagged from the smell of garlic.

Something appeared before his eyes, what seemed to be a cottage with one floor and a tiled roof. In the moonlight, all of it had a silver, ethereal glow.

"Get in."

Steps were leading to the door, and beside it, in the dirt, were a collection of very feminine flowers.

It seemed almost inconceivable that the same man who had once cursed Hermione… could live surrounded by budding flowers.

The walls were the colour of creme, the wooden planks oiled and gleaming. The professor flicked his wand at the hearth, and it crackled to life. A warm golden glow filled the room.

Outside, there were voices, more and more voices that were growing louder with every word.

The professor waved his wand lazily.

Any noise ceased immediately.

"Come," he said.

There was a door to the right, and with a flick of the wand, it was open.

A stairway led into darkness.

A thought came into Hydrus' mind, of stories of kidnapped witches and wizards, held ransom for the blood status…

His hands came to life as they sparked a fire in his palms.

It chased away the darkness, but the shadows were resilient. As the flames twitched and danced on their descent, the obscurity pooled in the corners.

They came to a large room, with a scarred table, as grey as the cement walls.

There were vials and flasks and bottles and containers, cauldrons that were pewter, cauldrons that were silver, cauldrons that were gold…

They bubbled and fizzed, with all sorts of gases coming from their mouths. Some were brown like fresh mud, others were green as freshly cut grass. Some were a deep purple as newly-plucked blueberries, other the rich orange of pumpkin juice.

It seemed as if Hydrus' Potions class had come back to haunt him in this faraway basement.

"The books you gave me were quite interesting," the professor was saying, as he stirred the contents of a cauldron. It bubbled loudly, and a strange reddish mist seemed to unfurl with every circle the paddle made.

There were candles, tall, tallow candles that dripped with hot wax, placed every here and there, throughout the cell-like place. They filled some of the space with their rich golden glow, but where their light could not reach, Hydrus stood, cloaked in shadow, the flames from his palms extinguished.

He could not bring himself to speak to him, he could not bring himself to look into his eyes…

"The stone was forged with dragon blood," the professor continued, adding a strange, bloody thing to his potion. They seemed to be odd, bulbous, ropey vines, an alien mix of blue and purple. It took a moment before Hydrus realized that they were intestines. "Dragons are such mythical creatures, with so many diverse powers. The Headmaster is commonly credited with the discovery of the twelve uses of dragon blood, did you know? Of course, you do. And yet, many don't realize that Albus Dumbledore only discovered _three_ of the twelve uses. Sometimes… it is necessary to reconsider… what we know."

Professor Quirrell looked up, for the briefest of moments, and Hydrus tried to avoid his eyes, the ones that had looked upon Hermione as she twitched and screamed, yet, they met his regardless.

They were the pale colour of ocean spray, a mix of blue and grey, forever at war.

For a long moment, no one said a word.

The professor, the horrendous monster, the horrible thing, continued to stir, stirring the contents of the silver cauldrons, the golden one, the pewter one, until they all were misting a pale blue colour.

The candles cast their golden gleam upon the mist, and for a long time, it seemed as if they were one - tongues of fire that writhed and twitched as one. Other times, they seemed like ice and flame, fighting for dominance.

"I need your blood," the professor said.

"My blood," Hydrus whispered. His voice was hoarse and brittle, as if he had spent the last hour crying his throat raw.

"Your blood," the professor agreed. In his hand was a silver knife - the silver that Potions students used to shop their ingredients.

Hydrus backed away.

Some part of him knew that the wall was only so far away. His hands came to life with fire.

"We can do it the easy way, or the hard way," the professor said quietly.

Some part of him knew, that despite all he did, he wouldn't hurt her… he wouldn't. Somehow he knew.

The flames in his hands died away.

The professor came closer, but Hydrus' legs were moving, moving backwards, until they hit the cement wall.

"Our master requires your sacrifice."

"Who is he?"

The professor looked pained as he said, "When the time comes, Hydrus."

"And when will that be?"

"Soon."

He grit his teeth but did not dare let the pain show, as the knife dragged across the inside of his elbow. Blood spurted from the cut, and ran down his arm, into the flask the professor held.

There was pain; a dull spasm that persisted even after the professor sealed his wound with a flick of his wand.

It was nothing compared to the feeling of being burned alive.

He was quiet, as the professor took a cup of each solution and dumped them into a separate cauldron.

They made a sizzling sound. The mist that rose from the cauldron was dark blue, dark like a midnight sky.

Slowly, the professor poured the blood inside.

And then, from the inner pockets of his robes, he dropped the Philosopher's Stone inside.

An odd smell came into the room, something like freshly cut grass, like the smell of a forest right after rain.

The mist turned grey.

"Master," the professor said. His voice was deeper, grander. "Your time has come."

Hydrus felt his throat clench, felt his arms shiver with invisible goosebumps. All this time he suspected, he knew, somehow…

"_Unrobe me, Quirinus_."

The sound was muffled, and yet it sounded so familiar...

The professor straightened slowly, and his hands, his steady, able, hands that had once taught Hydrus to shoot a crossbow, went to his head.

They unravelled his turban, bit by bit, the purple scarf finishing by falling to the floor.

Something was stirring in his stomach, a horrible feeling of nausea… he should have known… oh no, it was obvious… too obvious…

It was a face, pale grey and pink, with lips that seemed to melt into one line and slits for eyes, that glowed with red pupils... A face like that… it couldn't be human, it couldn't be - no, not at all…

He had seen those eyes before. Oh yes, he had. So many times, before Professor Quirrell had chanted that spell.

"_Hydrus Malfoy,"_ it whispered.

The voice… Merlin, no…

He had grown up listening to it whisper inside of his ear, listening to it taunt him with every word…

It was the voice that tortured his every sleep, it was the voice that assembled, like fine ashes into his mind, assembling… assembling…

_Into the red eyes._

"I - I've…"

Fear made his limbs stiff, fear made him cold, fear made him frozen.

"_My dearest water snake,_" it whispered. _"See what they have done to me - see what _Albus Dumbledore_ has done to the great Dark Lord"_

And then, it rose from the professor's head, like the wispy, grey smoke the Hydrus had seen so many times.

It solidified into a demonic, ghostly thing, that zipped through the air and plopped into the cauldron.

The professor's head was smooth and unshaven, the pale, peachy colour of human skin.

Hydrus' hand reached to his forehead.

The scar, the red, blood-red scar that had killed his biological parents - it stung and ached and burned. His palms were sticky, and something warm was running through his fingers.

It ran down his forehead and over his eyes, mixing with his tears until it turned a pale crimson.

The pain was horrible.

It raced through his head like claps thunder, in pulses that hurt more and more with every passing moment.

Nevertheless, his eyes stayed open. They were in a sort of trance, unwilling to close.

The cauldron was bubbling and boiling. The liquid - grey like a stormy sky, was sloshing, spilling over the sides of the cauldron.

Where it touched the floor, the liquid sizzled and turned to black mist.

The colour went darker and darker, until the smoke seemed to devour the golden light of the candles.

The bubbling intensified, guzzling faster and faster, until the fumes folded upon itself, and out came a four-limbed monster.

He was all grey; grey like dark slate, like the shiny silver in Hydrus' circlet. The smoke followed him out of the cauldron, pooling around his arms and legs, flowing off his shoulders like an ashy cloak.

There was something majestic and graceful about the terrible being, for he walked with delicate steps, and the air around him seemed to swirl, whispering their worship to this inhuman, monstrous creature.

For the first time, the red eyes were awake in his mind, yearning to reach for its kin - the great, beautiful abomination that made its way towards him.

His bowels, roiling and rumbling as they had been for the past two weeks... they would have run loose if Hydrus had not heard Professor Quirrell's voice whispering in his mind.

_"Raise your chin high, Hydrus Malfoy."_

And so, as the ashy and demonic thing walked towards him, Hydrus Malfoy stood tall. The pain - the horrible, thudding, never-ceasing pain - it threatened to blind him, threatened to make him screech and wail, and yet, he lowered his hands from his forehead and felt the blood rush down his fingertips.

There was something about him - about the monster cloaked in ashes - that seemed so very inhuman. His face was as disfigured and horrific as it had been on the professor's head; his eyes pale gashes with bright red pupils, his nose two slits and skin that seemed smooth, yet mottled, in a way only a thing beyond the grave could be.

"Your arm, Quirinus."

The professor was solemn and dutiful as he approached, the back of his head no longer wrapped by a purple turban. His pale grey eyes showed no fear when he stared at his master.

Hydrus was almost certain he knew what would happen next. He kept his chin raised and his back straight.

Lord Voldemort took the professor's left arm, below the wrist and pressed down with his thumb.

There was the smell of smoke, as black lines wound their way across his pale flesh.

Some part of Hydrus knew he ought not to look at the professor's face, to spare himself the torment and pain, yet his eyes flew upwards… and _stared._

His lips were pursed, turned to a thin, pale line, that trembled and shook. His eyes were clamped shut and leaking with tears. They tracked their slow way down his cheeks. The professor's body twitched, the fingers on his left hand jerked in all directions.

His throat bobbed up and down, and Hydrus knew that there was a scream waiting to penetrate the world, knew that the sheer _pain _he must have felt could have torn his brain to shreds.

_Let it loose, _he thought. _Let the world see you for the coward that you are._

Professor Quirrell jerked his head back and bellowed a horrific shriek. He fell to his knees and crumpled onto the carpet. His legs twitched underneath him.

Lord Voldemort spared him the barest of glances, walking towards Lord Black in smooth, water-like steps. He came so close that the smoke encircled them.

"Ten years ago, you and I met for the very first time. A baby, you were. An ant. I should have killed you. Yet here you are… and here I am… I was convinced… convinced you were the enemy… but no… I see that now. You're a gifted sorcerer, Harry Potter. Incredibly talented, even as a toddler… a baby…"

Lord Voldemort's breath misted into a white cloud, and his thin, grey fingers touched his forehead, brushing where Hydrus Malfoy's lightning scar would have lain.

Some part of him, the child inside - it quivered and shook in face of the monster. The pain from his forehead was horrible… he wanted to scratch the skin from his face, to rake his nails all the way to the bone...

Lord Black swallowed the scream that threatened to rattle his throat. "Hydrus Malfoy," he rasped.

"Hydrus Malfoy," the figure said, coming closer with each word. "The names we give to ourselves, often in an attempt to forget who we are. But alas, such efforts are futile. You were born with the name Harry Potter, son of James Potter and his mudblood wife.

"Do you know who I am, Harry Potter? Do you know what I have done? What I will do to the world?"

"The Dark Lord," Hydrus whispered. His voice was hoarse, with what, he could not say. The pieces were coming together, despite all the pain… the pain in his head. "You're the Dark Lord, He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named, the greatest terror to wizarding Britain." He took a deep breath. "You're Lord Voldemort."

"I am."

And slowly, he wrapped his long fingers around Hydrus' head.

They felt cool, and yet, he could feel none of it over the pain.

Tears were beginning to leak from his eyes, despite all of his wills. A scream was bubbling at the tip of his tongue. If he dared open his mouth, the shriek would have shaken the room.

Something brushed against his scar, and then the pain was gone.

When Hydrus Malfoy looked up, he saw Lord Voldemort, staring down at him with crimson blood dripping from his lips.

End of Part 1

* * *

**A/N:**

**Imagine if I had decided to go on a hiatus and left you guys on this cliff hanger...**

**Man that would've been evil.**

**I will say though, from here, the story takes a dark dive, and even though our protagonist is only eleven... well, it won't seem like it. **

**It's been actually quite difficult to write the chapters that come after this, because of how... dark and depressing and abstract everythings gets. Almost everything in this story past part 1 has never happened to me (and that's a very, very good thing), yet to write about it as if I have... yeah that's a bit hard.**

**I'm saying this as a heads up, because there may come a time where I won't be able to update every week on Wednesdays. I'll be trying my best, of course, but... I honestly don't think that my current writing skill or maturity is experienced enough to properly represent grief, depression or even try to portray a character as diabolical as Lord Voldemort.**

**That may change as I complete the next few chapters and I'm hoping it will, but if the responsibility of writing these ever becomes too much for me... I'll ask your patience as I try to complete them.**

**Special thanks to KingZeRopL for taking the time to review my story - I know how I want the fanfic to end, and... Hermione _may or may _not be alive at the end. **

**As for Hydrus Malfoy, he'll be alive (he's also the only perspective we have in the entire story so that can't be a spoiler), though I can't say how old he'll be.**

**Well that doesn't answer your question.**

**If I said anymore I'd spoil the story :)**

**There might be some confusion with this chapter, but I promise that I know, in general, what I'm doing (haha... if only).**

**As always, thanks to everyone who took the time to read my story, and I'll see you guys next week!**

**Cheers**


	23. Chapter 23

Lord Voldemort ran his fingertips across Hydrus' scar. They came away dark red with blood. "The Aurors… those filthy Ministry urchins... they'll swarm Hogsmeade and close it down in the next half hour, perhaps. You must get going, my water snake. Go back to Hogwarts; you know what must be done."

"Yes, my Lord."

He wiped away what remained of the blood on his forehead, and took one last look at the living room.

They had quenched the fire, the room now filled with darkness. The blinds were drawn, and no one made a sound, as if they weren't protected by the Fidelius Charm. Despite all of that, Lord Voldemort seemed to glow silver.

The professor had stayed silent through it all, staring out the window, a hand on his wand.

Lord Voldemort turned to him. "Quirinus."

He nodded, and opened the door. With the swish of his wand and in a deep, hoarse voice said, "_Morsmordre_."

There was a clap of thunder, and something appeared in the sky.

Hydrus watched it with disbelieving eyes.

Lord Voldemort leaned in close to his ear. "Go now, quickly, my water snake. Quirinus has distracted the Aurors, but not for long."

His long, thin fingers pulled the Cloak over Hydrus and they gave him a light push to the door.

The night was cool, but the world around him glowed... green.

Voices rose in the distance, and Aurors, with their newly turned moss-brown robes were rushing off in the opposite direction. They yelled words back and forth, lost in the commotion.

He felt his heart beat erratically, a sort of adrenalin, a sort of _life_ bursting through his veins. For the first time, in a very long time, Hydrus Malfoy felt truly alive.

The cobbled streets of Hogsmeade glowed green-and-grey, the colour ever-changing and swirling. Some part of him, growing with every second, wanted to look to the sky and see the great monstrous thing the professor had conjured.

But Aurors were rushing past, their robes swishing by his face.

One came so close if he had moved his arm an inch further, he would have brushed it against Hydrus' Cloak.

His legs were shaking as they ran, his feet pounding onto the road, passing by shops.

The last of the Aurors had joined their compatriots, staring high into the sky.

Hydrus found Honeydukes, and felt the handle with his hand. Locked.

He supposed he ought to know.

The windows were panes of glass, and behind, the inside was dark. The shopkeeper was nowhere in sight.

Hydrus looked at the window. There was no way to enter Hogwarts but from here.

Not for the first time, he cursed himself.

His wand was in the inside pocket of his robe, but knowing him, whatever spell he used would backfire.

There really was one thing to do.

Hydrus ripped off the Cloak, mashed it between his teeth, lit his hands and threw all of his weight into the glass.

It shattered like brittle candy, a loud _crash_ that broke the sudden stillness. Hydrus tumbled through, knocking all sorts of sweets with him to the floor. They skittered across the ceramic tiles, a cacophony of stringent sounds.

There were shouts, as witches and wizards poked their heads through their shop's door. Some were calling for the Aurors, other brave souls approaching the wreckage of broken glass. His flames had caught on one of the wooden shelves.

It crackled merrily, and for a moment, lit him with a golden splendor.

He shook his hands free of the flames and tossed the Cloak over himself.

The rest was easy.

Whoever was the shopkeeper of Honeydukes didn't dare move from his hiding spot. Hydrus crept right past his quivering form, and into the cellar.

Within fifteen minutes, he was back in Hogwarts.

In another five, he was rounding the corner to the Slytherin common room.

The words were running through his mind, excuses, reasons, but most of all, a sort of horrification.

It was all so clear to him now - why the professor had done all of it.

The plan was so very cunning, so very well thought through…

__(O.O)__

Albus Dumbledore looked at him, his light blue eyes peering through half-moon spectacles. Hydrus looked at him and knew, without a moment of doubt, that the Headmaster _knew_.

He knew why Hydrus had disappeared mysteriously to "grieve over Hermione" as the Dark Mark was cast into the sky. He knew, he knew, he knew.

And he would try and stop Hydrus.

Yet his gaze was calm and respectful as he folded his arms and began to speak. "Why have you called an emergency Wizengamot session, Lord Black?"

Hydrus Malfoy stood tall and lifted his chin.

He wore a heavy cape of shimmering black-and-purple velvet that hung from his shoulders, attached to his robes by matching crows. Their talons were sharp and pointy, closing in on an invisible prey. Between them were links of silver and bronze, connecting the twins.

They clattered against each other with every move Hydrus made.

Capes hadn't been worn in formal wizarding for a very long time - not since the time where underage wizards could act as their own regents. Some would catch on with the hint.

By regulation, only the Chief Warlock or a Lord of an Ancient and Noble House could call an emergency Wizengamot session. The circlet on his forehead marked him as Lord Black.

Hydrus took a deep breath and spared not a single glance at the people in the room. "The untimely death of my grandmother has left many many loose ends - many questions left unanswered. With the recent affairs… you must understand if I am reluctant to leave the governance of my family to someone else."

"My Lord," the Chief Warlock said, "if I do grasp what you intend to say, allow me to remind you that you are but a boy -"

"Times are changing," Hydrus told him. "Just a few days past, the Dark Mark was seen in the sky. Only a decade past, the Dark Lord ravaged the Wizarding World. There are whispers - people - who suspect that He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named is rising in power -"

"Rumours!" Cornelius Fudge exploded. His lime green bowler hat tottered dangerously on his head. "They were upjumped fanatics, nothing more! The Aurors did an investigation - tell him Madame Bones - tell him about what they found -"

Amelia Bones clasped her fingers together.

Her niece had died at Hydrus' hands.

Yet looking at her, one never would have known.

Her plum coloured robes, emblazoned with the silver _W_ of the Wizengamot, were neat and proper, her greying hair twisted into a bun, a monocle over her right eye. When she spoke, it was in a calm, indifferent voice. "The results of the investigation are still pending. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is not available to make an official statement at such time."

Cornelius Fudge sat back, with a terrible, horribly feigned, calm look to his face. Hydrus studied him carefully. There was a certain worried, fretful look to his eyes, as if his entire career would come collapsing before his very feet.

Hydrus looked to the wizards and witches who sat with their backs ram-rod straight on the velvet throne-like chairs.

They wore the plum coloured robes of the Wizengamot, and stared at him with a combination of pity and muffled amusement.

_That's alright,_ Hydrus told himself. _I only need one more than half_.

His gaze traveled to the left of the group.

There was his father, Lucius. Beside him was Perseus Parkinson, and onwards were more pureblood fanatics. Some even had the Dark Mark emblazoned onto their skin. They would have felt Lord Voldemort's resurrection, would have _known_ the true reason why Hydrus was here in front of the Wizengamot.

He would have their vote.

His gaze went past the gaggle of dark families, and to Cyrus. His blonde hair was gelled carefully, but they did nothing to make up for his shaky blue eyes. He knew, as well as Hydrus did, that whatever may avail, _he would be voting in favour of his words_.

That made perhaps a third. Two fifths, if one was being generous.

If he could sway the Minister…

"_What motivates him?_" The professor's voice filled his head. "_Why does he live? How can you use that against him? Or rather, how can you make him spin like a finger puppet?"_

Hydrus straightened himself. He could feel the words bubbling at the tip of the tongue, layering themselves with flattery and innocence. When he spoke, it was to Cornelius Fudge, and him only. "You must understand my consternation, Minister. As the Boy-Who-Lived, and Lord of an equally powerful family, I do not intend to wade through this as a minor. It is my status as a prominent… social figure that brings concerns. Perhaps, if we were to reach an agreement… I understand that you're an incredibly competent man..."

Cornelius Fudge straightened once more.

He was a fool.

But even fools could smell opportunity.

After that, it was easy.

Half an hour later, the members of the Wizengamot were dismissed.

The witches and wizards stood, some nodding to Hydrus, others greeting him formally, with the shake of his hand, and a polite "Lord Black".

They looked at him with a new sort of respect.

But when Lucius passed, he said no words and gave no nod.

There was a strange look in his pale grey eyes, an odd combination of anger… and _fear_.

__(O.O)__

"A most elegant place," Lord Voldemort commended.

The gate was black-and-bronze, guarded by dark crows. They were perched on the spires of the gate, their beaks pointing straight ahead, a look of calm indifference upon their faces.

Thousands years ago, they had been carved to stand vigil over the final hiding place of the last exiled Black King.

Today, it seemed, with the fine monarchy now dead, they would, regardless, do their solemn duty.

"Thank you, my Lord," Hydrus said. He tapped his wand to the centre of the gate, and the crows opened their beaks in unison. A deep voice came through their mouths.

"Lord Black," they rumbled. "An honour to serve."

In silence, they made their way into the main courtyard.

There were fifteen house-elves in this Black estate, and it seemed they kept the manor in good care.

The last Black to live in this castle had been Phineas Nigellus, before he had accepted a teaching job at Hogwarts. Since then, they'd lived in twelfth Grimmauld Place, a smaller, but just as grand house.

The trees glowed silver in the moonlight, trimmed with delicate hands. When the wind blew, the leaves rustled and blew onto the cobbled floor.

Black lanterns glowed with yellow light, and a quiet, soft, guzzling grew louder as they approached. Water spouted from the mouth of a scaled fish, tumbling down stone and into a basin. A large crow hulked over the poor animal, a giant looming mass with its wings spread out, beak raised to the night sky in a wordless battle cry. Where his claws punctured thick scales, rivulets of water flowed into the hollow below.

_The blood of our enemies_, Hydrus thought, looking at the fish.

"Your ancestors," Lord Voldemort said, "they were kings, were they not?"

Hydrus looked back, to where the professor was, walking half a dozen paces behind. Floating in his wake, levitated in a wooden box and subdued by three successive stunning spells, Norberta lay slumbering.

"Yes, my Lord," he said.

They climbed the stairs in silence, what must have been a hundred of them, before they came to the door.

It was a pitifully small thing compared to the rest of the castle, dwarfed by the towers and keeps.

Hydrus tapped his wand onto the door knob.

Lord Voldemort's expression was smooth and impassive as he stepped through, his eyes flowing from the glass chandeliers, to the soft, velvet carpets.

Age could not defy the craftsmanship of magic, it seemed.

The professor and him followed Lord Voldemort's steps in a quiet silence, as he opened doors and inspected tables, and finally, came to a stop on the other side of the Great Hall.

It was at the end of a table, a table so long it might have been able to seat all of Hogwarts and more. The chairs were soft and all matched, but for the one at the very end.

That seat was grand. Black-and-purple, seeming to absorb all the light that came near.

"This is where a king might have sat," Lord Voldemort said at last.

Hydrus did not know what to say. His fingers reached for the circlet at his forehead. The purple crow scratched its beak against his palm.

Blood welled in the cut.

"Where is your house-elf?" Lord Voldemort looked up. His long, thin fingers ran across the edge of the candles. "I want the table gone. Especially the chair."

"It shall be done as you require, my Lord."

"_Now_, Hydrus Malfoy."

He called for them.

It was done, by a team of dutiful house-elves who bowed as they disappeared.

Lord Voldemort glanced across the empty room. Without the table and chairs, there was nothing to be seen, but a vast emptiness that seemed to go on for miles. "Excellent," he said. Lord Voldemort turned his red eyes to Hydrus. "Have you opened the wards?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Excellent. Your arm, Quirinus."

The professor rolled up his left sleeve wordlessly.

"And so now we shall see… which daring souls shall brave my wrath… and which are fools to stay away."

Lord Voldemort pressed the wand against the professor's left wrist.

His face twisted with pain, and his fingers jerked wildly, but still he stood, until his master let go of him.

And then, one by one, black wisps appeared in the room.

_Crack, crack, crack_, it went, as a new ribbon of dark smoke assembled, drowning the light of the candles.

They approached Lord Voldemort, mumbling, "Master… master…", kissing the hems of his robes, before forming an odd circle. There were gaps between them, as if more people were meant to show up.

They wore masks of silver and gold that caught the candlelight, shining bright and delicate. And yet, when he saw the terrible carvings on them, Hydrus repressed sour bile.

They were faces, solemn yet vengeful, apathetic yet filled with fury. There were slits for eyes, and a gridded hollow for a mouth. Jagged lines ran across them all, their shadows accentuated from the candles.

Hydrus raised his chin and forced down his terror. He counted a dozen, perhaps more, blanketed shapes, faces turned to the ground, and a smell of culpability to them.

_My father is one of them_.

Which one was him?

It was impossible to tell.

"And so here we are, reunited at last. The family of Death Eaters, the family who swore _unending_, _unterminating_, _forever_ loyalty." Lord Voldemort stared at each figure in turn. His face was pale and thin, his cheekbones like stiff knives that jutted outwards. The red in his eyes seemed like liquid fire, swirling with furious anger. "Ten years you have had… _ten years _to find me… to _search _for the Dark Lord. All of you are cowards."

Hydrus shivered.

_You are Lord Black, not some filthy muggle. Raise your chin high._

"My - my Lord," someone stuttered. His voice was hoarse. "We - we couldn't be sure -"

"SILENCE!" he roared. Lord Voldemort pointed his wand at the trembling figure. "Ten years you have had, Avery, to search for your rightful master. You were sworn to me, were you not? Loyalty, unquestioning, _unending_, loyalty until your death. Perhaps you truly never were loyal. Perhaps you deserve to die."

"Please my - my Lord… anything… anything… I - I shall do -"

It only seemed to make Lord Voldemort more angry. "_CRUCIO_!"

He twitched and writhed on the floor, his arms and legs flailing wildly as if an invisible hand were pulling them in all directions. A scream erupted from his throat, wracked with pain, wracked with suffering, a wordless cry to be killed, to have his agony forever terminated.

Hydrus did not move.

His eyes were fixed on Avery, watching as his head jerked back, as if trying to sever it from his neck. They watched as his limbs were slammed to the floor, watched as a horrible cracking sound was heard. Something protruded from his right ankle; shiny and white.

Blood leaked all over the floor, seeping into the carpet, pooling all the way to his head. With every tremulous thud of his leg, more seeped through.

_He'll have to stop, _Hydrus thought desperately. _Before Avery kills himself._

Lord Voldemort lowered his wand.

Avery whimpered, his limbs drooping to the ground, lifeless and dead. An inch of bone, jagged and sharp, stuck out from his ankle.

Paying him no attention, Lord Voldemort began to circle his followers, leaving Hydrus and the professor to stand in the middle, one clutching his arm with poorly concealed pain, the other pretending he was a mighty Lord.

"Lucius, my slippery friend," he said, stopping before the nearest figure cloaked in black. Hydrus stiffled a gasp. "Fifteen years ago, you swore me your life. Where were you ten years ago? On that fateful night of nineteen eighty-one? I did not die, Lucius. I cannot die. Instead, it was pain… pain like never before. Having your soul ripped from your body is agony. But perhaps the worst part was knowing that no one even _tried_ to search for me. We are family, Lucius. We are kin."

"My Lord," he whispered. "I searched for you… any sign, and I would have arrived, as today… my Lord…"

"And so you came," Lord Voldemort agreed. His finger reached for Lucius' chin. "Quirinus has told all about you. A respectable pureblood, a high-standing member of society. You have not renounced the old ways, have you?"

"No my Lord. Never, my Lord."

"And I can see as much. Your son, Lucius, a wonder of nature. A natural prodigy. When the time comes, I shall delight to have him enter my services."

It was impossible to gage his reaction behind the mask. "My - my Lord?"

For the first time, it seemed he saw Hydrus, standing in the middle of the circle, the purple crow on his forehead cawing majestically.

"Your son," Lord Voldemort said. He turned to face the centre of the circle. "Approach, my water snake and forgive your father for all that he has done."

Hydrus raised his chin for the hundredth time and walked towards Lucius.

The cloak brushed against the carpet as he walked, sweeping through Avery's pool of blood. He could feel the extra weight, the dark red staining the black-and-purple velvet, dulling the bright sheen.

It was the same outfit he wore at the Wizengamot. The silver and bronze chains tinkled against each other, a soft, high-pitched sound that rang over and over.

Hydrus stopped before Lucius.

Somehow, the words came to his mind, forming in his mouth.

"Lucius Malfoy," he said. His voice was strong and powerful. That was good. "There is much to be done in the world. Muggles… muggles and -" he faltered "- mudbloods… abominations still walk the earth. Until they are all gone, until there is no more _filth_ to stain our eyes, can we rest. Rise, Lucius Malfoy, for our master needs you more than ever."

He rose shakily, his legs trembling underneath him. "Thank you… my son."

Hydrus raised his chin high.

"Your future is strong, Lucius," Lord Voldemort said. "Who knows? Perhaps in a year or two, your son may become the youngest member of the inner circle."

"You honour our family beyond words, my Lord."

"And so I shall continue to, should you serve me well. You have not lost faith, Lucius Malfoy, and for that, I will forgive you."

"Thank you my Lord," he whispered, relief staining every word. "Thank you, thank you…"

Lord Voldemort ran his thin, long fingers through Hydrus' hair. "Go back to the centre, my water snake."

"Yes, my Lord."

He continued his way around the circle, passing by some of the Death Eaters, speaking to others. "Macnair," Lord Voldemort said. "Destroying beasts for the Ministry, are you? Under my service, you shall have better, more worthy victims. The Dark Lord always provides."

"Thank you… thank you my Lord."

He continued on. "And here. Crabbe, Goyle. Are you prepared to serve?"

"Yes, my Lord," they whispered, raising their heads hesitantly. "Yes… of course…"

"And that goes to you too, Nott."

The robed figure lifted his head and kissed the hem of his master's robes. "Of - of course my Lord. I prostrate myself before you -"

Lord Voldemort looked at him with a sneer on his lips. He moved on, walking past each of the Death Eaters, watching as some squirmed away in fear, stopping to allow those who dared to kiss the hems of his robes.

Until finally, he stopped before the professor. His eyes grew to a bright red, almost appraising as they studied him. "You were an unlikely ally, Quirinus. A fanatic, and a fool, but loyal nonetheless. When I chanced upon your encounter, deep in the forests of Albania… I never would have thought the sheer amount of opportunities it brought. You brought me to life, you brought me my body, and you brought me the greatest treasure of all."

The professor was kneeled on the carpet, his arm marred by the black skull-and-snake, but his pale face devoid of any silver-and-gold mask. "It was all for you, my Lord."

"It was," he agreed, his voice light. "I thought you a true fool when you believed the illustrious Harry Potter might one day enter my services… of course, I see now how I might have been the fool. All those years ago, on the fateful night of nineteen eighty-one, Harry Potter ripped my soul from my corpse… for he was too powerful for this world. I should have known. Of course… I was blinded… by madness, by anger… even a man as great as I must be excused for my occasional flaw…" Lord Voldemort looked to Hydrus. "But his power was honed by you, Quirinus, and for that you must be given credit. To sense such talent, such _skill_… show them, my water snake. Show my inner circle all that you can do."

His hands caught fire.

They were red and orange, no longer the splendid light blue at the base, dancing across the tips of his fingers, twisting over his palm. Hydrus frowned. How could that be?

Murmurs rose. Voices of agreement, voices of obedience, voices of ascent, praising his magical prowess.

Hydrus shook his hands free of the light.

Lord Voldemort continued walking around the circle. "There are eight empty spots tonight," he said quietly. "The Lestranges should be here. Instead, they are chained in Azkaban. Bellatrix, Rabastian and Rodulphous. Truly, and forever loyal. Beside you, Avery, should be the Carrows. Alecto and Amycus, spirited wonders, and have proven to be one of the most devoted Death Eaters to my cause. And yet there is more: Jugson, Crouch… loyal followers, loyal to the bone. When the time comes, they shall be rewarded beyond their greatest dreams…"

He stopped beside Lucius, and stared at the emptiness. "There should be one of them. A defector, a _traitor_. He shall be killed of course, along with the other. A spy, he told he was. A loyal Death Eater until his death. Where is he now?

Lord Voldemort turned his head to Hydrus. "Lying beside the wretched muggle-lover, _Albus Dumebledore_, I do not doubt. His life, I shall give him the honour of ending… The other… alas… when the time comes, my water snake, it shall be you who will do the deed."

The blood had almost dried on his forehead.

_I have already taken five. What is another more?_

Lord Black raised his chin. "I shall be honoured, my Lord."

__(O.O)__

The house-elves had fixed Avery's leg with a snap of their fingers, and a scream on his part. His face pale white, he had nevertheless kneeled before his rightful master and kissed his robes so many times his lips might have turned black.

The plan had been polished, the refreshments served when Severus Snape came, apparating into the Main Hall, ribbons of black smoke trailing after him.

Lord Black watched him on a seat of fine velvet, his bloody purple-and-black cloak falling from his chair, shimmering like the pelt of a long-dead dragon. A look of polite wonder made his chin raise. The Death Eaters circled the table, with their master seated at the very front, glasses of rose gold champagne in their hands, a wooden surface cluttered with scrolls and quills and pots of ink before them.

Severus Snape hurried across the floor, and shoved his greasy nose into the hem of Lord Voldemort's robe. "Master…" he whispered. "Master… master…"

"Severus," he hissed. His red eyes were a swirl of fire, glaring down at him. "I missed you at the summoning."

The black snake-and-skull on his arm could be seen for the briefest of moments, but there was no silver-golden mask on his face. "I would have come, my Lord… the Headmaster… he was watching… I could not come…"

Lord Voldemort stared at him from atop his throne. "The fear comes off of you in droves, Severus. It smells of dread and cold sweat. Why are you scared, Severus? Why do you fear?"

He raised his head slowly. "My Lord… I am loyal… I have always been loyal…"

Lord Voldemort tilted his chin and looked into Severus Snape's dark eyes. Thoughts passed between them, questions and answers, a thorough probing of his servant's inner mind, stripping of all his secrets, raping his consciousness until there was nothing but the truth left in his pupils.

"You're weak, Severus," Lord Voldemort said quietly. "The filthy mudblood you asked me to spare? Her son sits at my right hand side. Time has only made you more sympathetic to the cause of the light."

Severus Snape looked up wildly, his eyes almost bulging out of their sockets when he saw Lord Black. "Master…" he mumbled, a look of horror writ upon his face. "Never… never… I have collected research… notes on the Headmaster - Albus Dumbledore - extensive things you should know… master…"

Lord Voldemort waved his hand and turned to the ensemble of his kin. "Death Eaters. Know that you are all on the path to redemption. Leave me now, with my guest. Return to your families, and remember all that we have discussed."

They rose, one by one, bowing before their Lord, kissing the hems of his robes, before leaving the room.

Lord Black stood from his seat.

"Stay, Quirinus, my water snake," his master said.

He sat back down.

Lord Voldemort turned his attention back to Severus Snape. "Take a seat, Severus. Tell me of all of what you know. Should you try to lie, a worse fate shall be dealt to you."

His face was oddly calm as he spoke, his voice the same hoarse growl that would often lecture misbehaving students. "He suspects of your return, master. He has been increasing security around Hogwarts, checking the secret passages… my Lord… the Ministry will never believe it -"

"Lucius has told me of as much," Lord Voldemort said icily.

"Of - of course, master. He… he has reinstated the Order."

The news brought no amount of surprise to Lord Voldemort's face. "Is that all you're good for? Common knowledge? I had hoped for better. _Crucio!"_

Severus Snape jerked in his chair, his head lolling backwards, his limbs flexing and twitching. Lord Black watched with a morbid fascination as the Potions Master fell to the floor in a twitching heap.

"Whose servant are you?" Lord Voldemort snarled. He lashed his wand, and Severus Snape let out a shriek. His dark, oily hair was sent into a swirl as his mouth opened and closed, trying desperately to answer the question. "_Tell me, Severus. TELL ME!"_

"Your - yours my Lord," he cried. "I am yours. I have always been yours -"

His head twitched backwards as Lord Voldemort ended the curse. "Stand up, Severus," he said quietly.

He did, his arms and legs trembling violently. It was barely a second, before his master pointed his wand at his eyes and yelled, "CRUCIO! _LEGILIMENS!"_

Lord Black watched as they stared at each other, one with his limbs spasming terribly, the other with a horrific smirk on his face.

There was a jagged red line on Severus Snape's cheek, and with every gasp-like breath he took, more blood pooled out, running in rivulets down his chin, staining his dark robes. A moan escaped from his lips and his legs would turn to pudding.

Yet somehow, twitching on the floor, their eyes never lost contact, as if they were lovers, meeting after a long journey apart.

How long it was, Lord Black could not gage. He sat so still, that his back began to ache. He sat so still that even the mighty chick atop his circlet cawed with impatience, digging its invisible claws into his forehead.

Finally, Lord Voldemort twitched his wand, and Severus Snape collapsed, his head thudding on the carpet. "Go, Severus. Return to Hogwarts."

His arms were shaking as he kissed the hems of his master's robes. "Thank you, my Lord… thank you…"

When he disapparated, a lock of black hair was left behind.

Lord Voldemort stared at the place where his servant once lay. "Do you know why I pardoned all of them, Hydrus?"

"If you hadn't pardoned them, you would have no Death Eaters," he said. His voice was calm and steady, that of a noble born Lord. "Without Death Eaters, you can't destroy the muggles."

"Precisely," Lord Voldemort said. "One wizard can only do so much. A true ruler knows when to punish, and he knows just as well when to forgive. I tortured Avery, but only him. Do you know why, Hydrus?"

"No, my Lord."

"He is weak, my water snake. Of all the Death Eaters of my inner circle, he is the weakest, the most vulnerable, and all of them know it. Thus, he can be punished without fear of retribution."

_A true ruler,_ he thought, looking at his virulent eyes. _A violent, cruel and calculating ruler, but a true one nonetheless._

* * *

**A/N:**

**This has been a slow chapter... definitely different from the last couple of ones that I've written. I like to think of each 'Part' of this fanfic as a separate story arc, with their own themes and moods and - you get the point. So now that we're back at square one, the tension is gonna have to rebuild and yeah.**

**You might have noticed that Lord Voldemort is a significantly saner and more reasonable person(?) in this. I kind of imagine him not just as a murdering psychopath, but as an actual human character with some sort of moral compass (if a bit vague). He hates muggles and mudbloods, but understands that if he kills everyone off, he'll have no one to fight for him.**

**Special thanks to WingsFlockFromAbove and (my regular reviewer) KingZeRopL, for taking the time to write a review for my story!**

**To WingsFlockFromAbove - thanks you so much for your kind words! I will say, I actually wanted to split up Chapter 22 into two chapters because of how much longer it was than the rest... but I'm definitely super happy you enjoyed my ending!**

**And to KingZeRopL - haha Quirrell... isn't evil exactly... he's... I should probably stop before I spoil something. Yeah, I read the last bit of Goblet of Fire, and Lord Voldemort's resurrection takes an entire chapter while mine... about two pages? The chapter was getting very long, though, so I didn't want to drag out the ending too much. Part of it is, however, covered in this chapter, near the end. Now as for what Lord Voldemort did to Harry, it's not supposed to be important, it's just like his way of acknowledging that "we're on the same side"**_. _**I like to think in the books, a reason why Harry's scar hurt so much was because he was actively fighting against Lord Voldemort's intrusion, and Lord Voldemort was actively fighting against Harry's mind. That kiss is 'cause Voldie doesn't do things halfway.**

**Now... for the last bit of your question... I will say... I've never read Lord of the Rings... I've been told many, many, many people to read it... I just haven't had the time recently to do so. Maybe come the summer I'll do it. As for writing a HP and GoT crossover fanfic, I actually really like the idea... I just have no idea where to start. Game of Thrones is complicated - my mind is not. If one day I could ever think of a plot that would be logical and reasonable, then yeah sure, why not. I could, I dunno, make Voldemort the Night King, have Harry Potter be Azor Ahai and have Mel be... confused. What the hell, if only for the laughs.**

**Well wow this has been a really difficult chapter to write - and I have no idea why that is. Regardless, I'll hope to see you gues next week!**

**Cheers**


	24. Chapter 24

Hydrus stared at the great enclosure.

The dome was a translucent purple-blue, rippling with every soft breath of the wind, as if it were the delicate surface of water. Inside, a black-and-purple dragon frolicked, chasing after a squirrel.

The nubs that were once the beginning of her horns had grown until they stood like jagged knives atop her heads, tall and sharp, curved like a crossbow. Her eyes - even from such a distance - could be seen. They were bright red. Red like fire, red like anger and red like Lord Voldemort's own.

Norberta chased after the squirrel, her talon-less feet pounding noisily against the crisp, green grass. She opened and closed her mouths, caught in a wordless cry of frustration.

In the distance, the sky was pink and orange, just starting to turn blue.

He looked behind him.

The professor, no longer wearing his purple turban and no longer smelling of garlic stood half a dozen paces behind, a polite, respectable distance.

Nonetheless, Hydrus Malfoy wished he would leave.

Lord Voldemort had granted him the hospitality of the castle, in return for his dutiful service. One did not refuse the gifts of the Dark Lord.

"She's doing quite well," the professor said. He came closer and pressed a finger against the swirled blue-and-purple barrier.

Immediately, there was a zap and he jerked away.

Hydrus looked over at him. "It's warded so that only the people I allow may enter."

He stepped through.

Norberta turned one head to him and opened her great jaws. A burst of hot orange flames escaped, torching the grass, devouring all that stood in its way until everything was black. Her other head began making a strange, quiet but high-pitched whistling sound that sounded rather like a gagging babe.

The flames caught on his robes, but Acromantula silk was fireproof and so Hydrus made his way in a quiet silence to Norberta.

There were no books written on the taming of dragons. There were no steps to follow, no charms to induce obedience.

Some part of him knew that he ought to stop, to burn his plans as easily as Norberta destroyed the grass in the purple-blue dome. Lord Voldemort had not been pleased when he learned of what Hydrus intended to do.

"_We are allied with many creatures, my dear water snake… but dragons… they are something else entirely…"_

"But I can do it," Lord Black had told him, with a certain confidence he didn't know he possessed. "I can."

"_And this is why you wish to forfeit your Hogwarts education? For a childhood fantasy?"_

Hydrus could not express the strange feeling of attachment that possessed him to openly defy Lord Voldemort.

"My Lord, I am no use to you, stuck inside of Hogwarts. Unbound by the restraints of the Ministry -"

His eyes had flashed with anger, and Hydrus Malfoy knew in that moment that he had pushed too far.

And yet, Lord Voldemort did not curse him with the Cruciatus, nor did he raise his voice above a whisper. "_Leave,_" he ordered.

Hydrus Malfoy had, as the first rays of sunrise peaked through grey clouds.

Norberta snapped one of her heads, the other, smaller, frailer one hanging behind, watching him warily from afar. She came closer, seemingly perplexed by the fire-proof creature that stood in front of her.

"I can do it too," Hydrus whispered.

His hands bloomed with bright blue flames.

Norberta came closer, and the larger of her heads approached, craning its long neck until she was level with his hands.

Slowly, Hydrus sat down onto the ashes that were once the grass and watched as she ambled onto his lap. Both her heads turned to him, sniffing his silk robes that twinkled with orange fire, but did not burn. They nuzzled his chest, nudged his arms and breathed puffs of dark smoke into the nape of his neck.

For a long time, they sat, Norberta's heads opening their mouths wordless, soundless screeches chiming from their throats.

Their orange-red eyes watched his hands most of all, staring at the blue flames that whirled about, dancing to the tune of a long-forgotten song.

How long it was he sat there, Hydrus Malfoy did not know.

Time did not seem to matter anymore. The furies of Lord Voldemort did not matter anymore. There were no Death Eaters, and there were no silver-gold masks.

There was only him, and Norberta, her two heads watching the blue flames.

_I can do it_.

And slowly, his hands brushed over the fringes of his sleeves.

His robes - his robes that should have been fire-proof - they caught like dry kindling, and burned with black smoke and orange flames, devouring his silk robes until he sat naked with Norberta in his lap, watching the sunrise.

_The dawn of a new era. _

__(O.O)__

Hydrus Malfoy did not want to be present for the meeting.

He did not want to feel their stares, a mixture of bewilderment and pity and jealousy…

But to abstain from a Death Eater meeting was to scorn the Dark Lord, and Lord Black could not afford to anger him once more.

And so, he had brushed his dark hair, oiled it with Sleekeazy's Hair Potion until it shone like obsidian, before placing the silver-bronze circlet on his forehead. The robes came next: black-purple Acromantula silk that shimmered in the orange candlelight, and his cape, clasped at his shoulders, trailing behind him.

It hadn't been very long into the meeting, but already, Hydrus Malfoy's neck was beginning to ache. Perhaps it was the knowledge of what would happen… for Lord Voldemort had told them to bring them in today…

He shifted in his seat, his hands cradling each other in his lap, his legs quivering.

The Dark Lord sat in his place at the very front of the table, his pale grey face inhumanly thin, skin pulled tight over sharp cheekbones. He swept his gaze across the Death Eaters, meeting their eyes, watching as some raised their chins and as others shrunk in their seat.

An eerie sort of melancholy filled the room as if they could all feel the moral weight of what they had done.

The Death Eaters had brought them in, chained at the hands, tied at the feet, to be hammered against the wall, rusted nails driven into their wrists. They had screamed and thrashed, shrieked and begged, but the hammers came, and as Lord Voldemort laughed, they all forced weak chuckles, Avery the loudest of them all.

Blood had come pouring from the wounds, bright red, slithering down their arms like thin, crimson worms. The screams had lasted for a minute, and then two, before their eyes rolled into their skulls, and the whites were all Hydrus could see. By then, the blood was dry, caked over their forearms, brown like the rusted nails that pinned them to the wall.

_They're going to die_, Hydrus had thought, watching with morbid fascination as Lucius hammered a spike into the wrist of a black-haired woman. With every pound of his hammer, she had screamed in agony. _Not today… no, the Dark Lord needs them… in a week… in a month… in the lonely, lonely cells… surrounded by misery… at least Belvina had a better fate… console yourself with that, Lord Black, before this breaks the brittle wall you've built in between yourself and reality._

He did his best. His absolute best to keep his eyes staring forward - but facing him sat the professor, and so Hydrus Malfoy found himself meeting his eyes more often than not, what must have been a crazed look glimmering in his complexion.

Lord Voldemort watched the bodies, hanging to either side of the walls, silent, kept on the brink of death through layers of complex magic. Then, with a satisfied look to his eyes, he turned to face his servants. "You said you had something for me, Nott."

The man nodded. When he spoke, it was in a deep, formal voice, that sounded nothing like Theodore. "I have found Wormtail, master."

Wormtail… there was no Death Eater called Wormtail… unless...

Lord Voldemort's lips curled upwards, and a queer smile stretched his silver skin. "Well, don't leave us waiting, Nott. Bring him."

It was impossible to tell through the silver-gold mask, but Hydrus thought he detected hesitation. "If it pleases my Lord, he is waiting in my manor, uncertain of whether or not his presence would be welcome -"

"Bring him to me, Nott."

"Of - of course, master."

Silence reigned as king until Nott came back, a quivering, stout man trembling behind him.

"Master," he squeaked, his brown, bulging eyes glued at the floor. "Master… master… I would have arrived at the summoning… but I had no wand… no means of reaching you and your splendour… please… forgive me…"

His thin lips kissed Lord Voldemort's robes, falling to his knees, mumbling incoherent words of forgiveness over and over.

"Rise, Wormtail," he said bracingly. His eyes shone with red malice. "Where have you been? It seems… time has not treated you well…"

Indeed, it had not.

Nott may have lent him spare robes and allowed Wormtail his gracious hospitality, but no amount of soap could erase wrinkles and the bizarre, insane look to his eyes. Magic could not, for that matter, regrow limbs. The man's index finger was missing.

"Yes," he mumbled. "But it was all worth it… to see you once more… alive… master… I cannot begin to say all the joy this brings me… to see you… after - after… Harry Potter… he -"

"Harry Potter is dead," Lord Black told him. He did not know where the courage came from and did not dare look to his right, to see what might be Lord Voldemort's reaction.

Wormtail did not lift his head from his master's robes. "Then that is the most wonderful news…"

"Look who speaks to you," the Dark Lord said quietly.

Slowly, the quivering, squat man lifted his face and stared at the young boy right beside him. "H-H-arry Potter," Wormtail whispered. Thick, sausage-like fingers fiddled with the lapel of his robes. "I mean - Hydrus. Hydrus Malfoy."

Lord Voldemort turned his red eyes back to Hydrus. "It seems formal introductions are in order. My water snake, this is Wormtail, known to the public as Peter Pettigrew. Once best friends with your father - pardon, your biological father -" he looked to Lucius "- and has since been… what is it? Hiding as a rat? Owned by those filthy blood-traitors - the _Weasleys_. Did they dress you in filthy muggle oddities? Did they brush your coat, trim your whiskers?"

A round of laughter passed around the table, and for once, Lord Black joined in whole-heartedly.

"This is my water snake, Wormtail. But you have met before, of course. The companion of a blood-traitor, milling around Hogwarts… of course you wanted to see the famed Harry Potter…" Lord Voldemort took a finger and lifted Pettigrew's chin. "Have they corrupted you, Wormtail? Have they sown lies into your mind?"

"Never, master," he stuttered. "I have been yours. Forever and always."

The Dark Lord's eyes were a miasma of mockery. "Excellent… excellent... take a seat, Wormtail."

His round body quivered as he moved, his robes jiggling like rolls of blubber before Peter Pettigrew finally sat down on a high-backed velvet chair. Hydrus Malfoy watched him. It was more than his demeanour that set him apart from all the other Death Eaters.

Wormtail hunched in his seat, his hands shaking just as bad as the rest of his body. There was no grace, no elegance to his manner.

_How did he earn the Dark Mark?_

Hydrus Malfoy tried to focus on the thought, as Lord Voldemort continued to speak, describing the atrocities that would be needed to reduce the filthy muggles to insane beings, the curses, the torments… and the list went on…

Water-boarding, the Cruciatus, branding… it would be a loud next few meetings, Hydrus Malfoy concluded. And perhaps best that he did not think of their suffering too much. _Before the wall crumbles. Do not let it crumble, Lord Black. _

"Leave us now," the Dark Lord commanded. "There is much to be done."

__(O.O)__

Many secret passageways snaked in and out of the castle, encircling the vast estate like a series of worm tunnels. The house-elves had told him of many; emergency escape routes, spy holes, strongholds should the worst ever arrive to the noble family.

"But the castle is old, and many secrets have died with its ancestors," a particularly articulate house-elf told Lord Black. "There are many more, we suspect that will never be discovered."

They told him of all they knew, behind cabinet doors, in the back of pantries, false walls… the list went on and on. Some led to the outskirts of the property, others to the dungeons, and some that branched off and led to secret rooms.

He had not understood just how many there were until one day, Hydrus had stepped on the wrong plank and went sprawling a hole.

His hands had ignited, those stupid, foolish instinctive things, glowing the colour of dark carnelians. They razed the hay, burning all of it away until nothing remained but grey ashes and dark smoke.

Coughing, he sat up.

His throat burned, and when Hydrus tried to open his eyes, they watered so much it was as if the world's rivers flowed in his cheeks. He spat a glob of phlegm, and grappled about, trying to find the wall.

With every move, a jolt raced up his spine and his head pounded to the sound of distant drums.

"Mondor," he cried, his throat burning. "Torond, Merla, Soren… help… I… I…"

It was as if the world had played their little trick on him, as he drowned in a black fog of the remains of his greatest blessing. What little light there had been was from his dark orange flames, devouring the straw. Yet whatever deity out there must have had mercy on him.

His fingers found the wall, and slowly, Hydrus let out a quiet breath of relief.

Walking was impossible, so he crawled, feeling the acrid smoke brush his face, kissing him with poison, going and going, following the curve of the rough stone, until the air felt breathable.

A soft moan escaped his lips.

The air was sweet like fresh pomegranates, plucked straight from the vine. How long he lay there, collapsed on the rocky floor, Hydrus Malfoy did not know.

But slowly, he got up and did his best to blink away the tears, pointless as it was. They rained down his face, from the smoke - _and the pain,_ Lord Black thought.

His back was a swirl of aches that gave off a burst of protest each time he moved his legs. It was as if someone had shoved a blunted knife into his back; with every step, the very same spot would blossom with agony.

_Where am I? _Hydrus thought, one hand running against the uneven walls. They raked across his fingertips, harsh like sharpened daggers, digging their iron teeth into his flesh. Perhaps it had already drawn blood, but he did not care. To be lost in the dozens of forgotten passages was unthinkable.

He opened his mouth, but only a whisper came through; the sound of a dying man. It echoed in the dark space, taunting him for how very weak he was.

The professor's voice was back in his mind, lecturing him in his apathetic tone. "_And so, what is it that is your greatest advantage? Your hands? Your feet? Your arms? Your legs? Those are all important. Yet what controls all of that? Yes, your brain. Your mind. Your wits. Now look around you and think. What can be done to improve your current situation?"_

"Light," Hydrus whispered to his invisible professor. His voice cracked as he continued. "I need to see where I'm going."

His hands lit the way, turning the world a warm bronze.

Yet despite that, it was impossible to see the other wall, and so Lord Black kept his left hand firmly against the rough stone, feeling the jagged edges draw blood. He did not care, for something told him that if he got lost in the middle of the path, he would not be able to find the wall again.

His flames were not ever this dim. Perhaps the fall had drained more from him than he thought.

For how long the passageway went on, he could not say. It sloped up and down, left and right, branching off into multiple different routes. Hydrus always chose the centre-most one, praying that there truly was an exit point, praying that he had not lost himself in a maze of ever-twisting walls.

His feet began to ache, and the pain in the small of his back seemed to lessen as time went on.

Multiple times he tried to cry for the house-elves, for them to come to save him, but his throat was so very raw, and only a hoarse, gasping sound came through.

An eerie silence reigned as king as Hydrus Malfoy continued to hobble, whistling a song that brought shivers down his spine. Perhaps he would die here… the great Lord Black, dead after wandering the secret passageways of his castle, his dead body to rot in a forgotten catacomb, the first corpse to be put to rest.

And then, the noise came, from far away, a whisper of sorts, guiding him to the left…

He could not tell where the sound came from; it sounded like a muted buzzing, a hushed voice that spoke… Hydrus followed it eagerly, quickening his hobble, a cynical part of his mind convinced he had gone insane.

There were two voices - he could hear them now, becoming more distinct as he walked; one a high-pitched squeak, the other a low rumble.

The floor would sometimes slope up, and the sounds would fade away into the quiet background, but soon enough afterwards it came sinking back down, and the voices would only get stronger.

"_Mudblood..._" one of them hissed, its voice a low rumble. "_Prove your loyalty… Hogwarts… don't you?"_

Hydrus felt his heart leap right into his throat, beating as if on fire. He knew the voice. Of course, he did. The very same had spoken a thousand times at the Death Eater meetings, his prose calm and commanding, terrifying in its quiet way.

He quickened his step, feeling a stab of agony as he broke into a tentative jog.

The second voice became louder as he went, squeaking as it spoke. "_Of course… loyal… loyal… forever loyal…"_

"_Then you know what must be done…"_

They were becoming so very clear now… they couldn't be far -

A ribbon of light stuck out far away, glowing a sort of warm yellow, very much unlike the coppery bronze Lord black had been staring at for… for how long now? It was impossible to say.

He started to run, however foolish that might have been. The voices continued to speak, saying what, he would not have known. His back was on fire, his feet so sore they might have been aching to the bone.

It was a window almost, the size of a bludger, round like an egg, flowing with the jagged walls so very naturally that it almost seemed to be a crystal, a glowing yellow crystal that had lodged itself in the spiky embrace of the rocks.

Hydrus looked through, the brightness almost blinding him.

He blinked hastily, wiping away the tears with impatience. Slowly, the world through the oval glass came into focus.

A library, with great wooden bookshelves that stretched to the ceiling, filled with dusty tomes… the Black family library… he was still in the castle... that was good…

Relief coursed through him until Hydrus saw just who was sitting in the library. The voices had grown so loud, it was as if they were right in front of him. For they were.

Lord Voldemort, his pale grey skin shining like silver, his dark red eyes staring at a quivering, blubbering man…

Hydrus crouched immediately, feeling his heart race.

This would have been a private matter. The Dark Lord would have his head, regardless of who he was.

He should leave. Run through the passageway, running before he heard any more of what went on, before he was killed for knowing too much.

And yet his feet stayed firmly planted to the rough floor, his hands extinguishing themselves until the only source of light was the glass pane, glowing a golden yellow. The voices continued to speak, and Hydrus breathed a great sigh of relief.

_You should go now, _he thought to himself. _Leave before the Dark Lord sees you… his magic will find you… go now… go…_

But he did not.

And the voices continued to speak.

"Bring it to me, Wormtail," Lord Voldemort commanded. "I want it before the moon passes. Do you understand that?"

Hydrus heard him stutter a response, lost as he continued, "But how do I know that you will remain loyal? I suppose I cannot, can I? No, the second you enter Hogwarts, you'll go sniffing for that wretched Albus Dumbledore. Do not deny it, Wormtail. We both are very much aware that you are a coward."

"I am loyal, master…" Peter Pettigrew whimpered. "Loyal… forever and always loyal…"

"Are you truly?"

"Yes," he cried. "Forever and always, master."

For a long moment, there was silence. Hydrus could hear his heart beating like a thousand drums, banging in his ribcage, begging for release.

_I should go now._

His feet did not move.

Lord Voldemort continued to speak. "If you are truly loyal, then you shall accept whatever gift be dealt to you. Give me your arms, Wormtail. Both of them."

There was a pause, as Peter Pettigrew must have knelt before him.

It came unexpectedly, a roar of thunder. "_IGNEM ACCINCTI._"

A roar came from the room, a shriek that lasted so long, Hydrus' mouth began to ache from clenching his teeth.

I should leave.

But curiosity got the better of him, and his hands grasped the rough stone and pushed himself up. Wormtail lay rolling on the carpet, his fat, pale wrists encircled by red bands.

He was screaming, screaming and screaming, thrashing his head, pounding his wrists onto the flor.

"Do you feel that?" the Dark Lord said quietly. "The second any treasonous action comes to mind, those bands will burn with pain a thousand stronger than that. Go on, Wormtail. You have much to do."

"Of - of course, master."

Hydrus watched, his eyes caught in a trance.

Lord Voldemort watched him. "Go, Wormtail. Bring me that map. The Marauder's Map."

Hours later, and Hydrus Malfoy had not moved. His legs were burning, but he kept his gaze to the glass pane.

How long it had been, he did not know, until finally, he tried to speak and found that his throat did not burn.

"Mondor," Lord Black called. The house-elf appeared at his feet. "Bring me back to my bedroom."

_(O.O)_

Lord Voldemort did not eat meals.

He did not seem to eat at all, and spent his time in the Black family library, flipping through the dusty tomes, during the nights… during the days… Hydrus Malfoy did not see him unless it was during the Death Eater meetings or the short minutes afterward.

The house-elves brought the invitation in a yellowed scroll, written in dark ink, signed with the elegant flourish of a wrist. She bowed, her floppy ears kicking us cinders.

Norberta had taken to torching the grass as often as the house-elves replaced it. Hydrus had commanded that a fire-proof variation be bought from whatever business, for whatever price they commanded, but it had yet to arrive.

Until then, she would frolic in a field of ashes, her every step sending billows of grey dust into the air.

With the note in his hands, he said goodbye to his dear companion and changed into silk robes. Would he have to wear the cape and the circlet? Hydrus Malfoy did not know.

Lord Voldemort looked up as Hydrus entered, his long, thin fingers snaked around the leather cover of a thick text. "It is not often that one is surrounded by such vast knowledge." He set the book down onto a coffee table, beside a vase of orchids. "Your family has an impressive collection of literature. Have you read any of it? Well, don't stand there. Take a seat, Hydrus."

He did.

They sat facing a great, gaping window. In the distance, it was possible to see the purple-blue dome, shining like the sheer surface water.

Lord Voldemort followed his gaze with bright red eyes, watching as a flash of orange appeared, and a cloud of black smoke blossomed like an overgrown mushroom. "Your dragon is a very… spirited creature. To tame one… is not as easy as one might think it is."

This was not the first time they had had the conversation.

"You have said so many times, my Lord," Hydrus said carefully. It was impossible to determine his moods.

He returned his gaze to him. "I have. Yet that does not seem to deter you in the slightest."

"I - I meant no disrespect, my Lord -"

"Many commit to actions, goals, plans that are benign when first imagined in their mind, but entirely, radically different when viewed through the tinted lens of another. This will not be the first time we disagree. Nor will it be the last."

Today, Lord Voldemort was in one of his better moods. Hydrus Malfoy thanked Merlin for that.

"Your graciousness… is a prime example for us all, my Lord."

"And so it shall be. But foolish squabbles… no, my time is otherwise better used. I asked you a question upon your arrival into this magnificent stronghold of information. Tell me truly, have you ever palmed through this collection? Have you opened any of these thick tomes, brushed the dust from the leather-bound covers, lit an oil lamp and studied the carefully printed words?"

Hydrus had never enjoyed reading. "No, my Lord."

Lord Voldemort crossed his hands upon his lap, an air of nobility to his gaze. His chin was raised, his back straight like an iron rod, his thin, long fingers like sharp, grey knives. "It shows my water snake. It shows… I was there, you know. All those times you trained with Quirinus, all those times you crossed knives with him, shot a quarrel, danced that terrible dance with bōs… I was there. Sometimes, I took possession of his soul. You must excuse my indulgences… but I missed having a body, a physical container for my spirit…"

His red eyes glowed with passion. "It was I you spoke to, that night, where you had second doubts… where you were not sure if you wanted to go on… poisoning Belvina Black… I am not a fool, Hydrus Malfoy. You are young. Painfully young. Eleven, to turn twelve as the seventh month dies… You are new to this world, new to the horrors, the atrocities, the suffering that all must experience to achieve their goals. Your heart is… it is by no means benevolent… but it is not dark. Do you understand that?" Lord Voldemort stared at Hydrus' palms. "Yes, I suppose you do. Your soul is tainted, after all. Five deaths. A sixth to come. A tall order for such a young boy."

The Dark Lord watched him. "You were there, yesterday, weren't you?"

His heart crept into his throat. _Lying is punishable by death._ "Yes… my Lord."

"Do you know how I knew you were there?" Hydrus Malfoy did not dare answer. "I could feel you. Standing there, behind that glass mirror."

His gaze followed Lord Voldemort's finger.

It was the same bludger-sized round window that Hydrus had looked through, encircled by vines, only it showed his reflection and not the jagged walls he knew were behind.

"We are connected, my water snake, connected in a special only the two greatest wizards will ever be." The Dark Lord lifted Hydrus Malfoy's chin. "There are many more filthy muggles and mudbloods that unrightfully walk this world. My conquest will lead me south, north, east, west, but someone must stay to keep the rule. You are young, my water snake. But the young can be groomed. Do you understand this?"

Hydrus Malfoy felt his forehead, the line that went from one temple to the other. The cold silver-bronze circlet was gone from his head, but he could feel the weight of it regardless, the dull pain that thudded in his neck.

_Power is pain, and one day, I will sit on a throne made of death and destruction, with invisible strings attached to my arms and legs, to dance to the will of the Dark Lord. And then… and then what shall happen?_

* * *

**A/N:**

**I like to think that this is a gigantic foreshadowing chapter. A bunch of the stuff mentioned here will come up in later throughout the story. How soon I can't say, which scenes I also won't say (for obvious reasons).**

**You guys are welcome to guess and speculate in the review/comment section, though, um, if any of you are right, for obvious reasons I won't be confirming it (sorry KingZeRopL XD)**

**Special thanks to KingZeRopL and WingsFlockFromAbove for taking time to write a review of my story!**

**To KingZeRopL, I would lying if I said I agree with your opinion on the LGBTQ+ community, but everyone has a right to their opinion and I respect yours. Voldemort... is not gay. Rereading the past few chapters I definitely understand how a person can reach that conclusion, but um yeah, he's... I actually don't know what his sexual identity is. In this fanfic, he's... I also don't know the answer to that question. He will have a relationship with Bellatrix Lestrange, further than that, I don't know (I'm terrible at planning out books). I'm really glad you liked last week's chapter because I was honestly kind of worried that the drop in tempo would be too much of a dramatic shift. Hopefully this week's chapter also lived up to your standards :)**

**To WingsFlockFromAbove, thank you so much for your kind words! The next big storm might happen sooner than you think... (hint hint hint triple wink - I'm also not that great at planning stories so don't quote me on this! :) )**

**I hope to see you guys next week!**

**Cheers**


	25. Chapter 25

It was a majestic fortress that rose in the distance: triangular, a thousand feet tall, like the jagged middle finger of a long-dead deity. Waves came crashing around the base, and as they came closer, Lord Black saw, truly, that the tales did not do it justice. The great prison jutted from a rocky island, black and brown, slick with seafoam, crenellations dug on the walls, towers, walkways and guard posts. It was no simple tower. A castle it was instead, the greatest, tallest castle to ever be built.

They flew as one, on top-of-the-line broomsticks, feeling the rain patter against their cloaks. It flowed behind them, drenched with water, streaming like ribbons of ever-undulating black smoke.

Lord Black shivered against the cold but did not dare let it be seen. The Death Eaters had taken to staring at him whenever possible, their incredulous, disbelieving faces scarcely masked by pureblood etiquette. They could not believe a young boy could be held in such high regard by their Lord. They could not believe that the scrawny eleven-year-old child could command the favour of their master.

Hydrus Malfoy did not understand it either, and for that, held himself high on his broomstick, keeping a steady grip on the handle. It was slick with rainwater, and through the downpour, it was almost impossible to see anything but the barest of outlines. In this cold, drenched world hidden in the North Sea, the only colours to exist were blue, brown and black.

Arriving at the great fortress would be perhaps the easiest part of the night.

He spotted the first one, like a glowing silver shroud, floating towards them as if it were a damned soul, come to meet his master.

The effect was instantaneous.

He heard a scream from far away, a jarring, high-pitched noise that shook him to the bone.

_Hermione,_ Hydrus thought desperately. His hands began to tremble. _They're meant to do that. It's fake… fake… all of it a lie… Hermione is safe in Hogwarts… she has… she has the Headmaster… that prejudiced old codger to protect her…_

Once more, her scream rang out in the wind, blown to his ears by merciless gods.

He turned his head around desperately, trying to wipe the rainwater from his eyes, trying… trying desperately to find her… she had to be close… but - but -

_It's the Dementors_, Hydrus told himself. _They make you relive your worst experiences…_

And suddenly, his hands were alive with pain.

All those times… the red eyes… they had cursed, tortured him…

It came thundering down on Hydrus, plunging a thousand knives into his hand, burrowing deep into his skin, until it hit bone. They crashed through that as well, piercing the other side of his flesh, sawing away, until his palms had been cut into a thousand pieces…

His eyes were hot with tears that burned tracks of molten lava down his cheeks

_The Death Eaters_, he thought, barely suppressing the urge to hurl. _They can't see you as weak, they can't or they'll ridicule you for the rest of your life…_

He kept repeating the words to himself, over and over, until his head rang with the chant… but his hands came loose of the grip, and Hydrus Malfoy clutched them close to his stomach, doubled over in pain, whimpers escaping from gritted teeth.

His legs were the only thing keeping him upright, clenched tight against the footholds, yet those were quickly weakening. He did not know how much longer he could resist before his resolve failed him… and he would plummet a thousand feet down, and into the stormy North Sea, perhaps to be lost forever.

But death would be quick.

There would be pain, burning agony as he died, but nothing in the world could be worse than what he already… nothing...

Hydrus Malfoy felt his feet relax, and as a violent gust of wind southwards, he felt himself totter, pushed abruptly to the left -

Something caught him then, right below his waist, shoving him back onto his broomstick.

And then… the pain was gone.

The burning agony left his hands, Hermione's screams fading until she sounded like the sharp whistling wind and the patter of rain against their heads.

Someone's voice whispered in his ear, soft and rough, guiding him slowly back to the present, their hands steadying his wrists, giving Hydrus a final pat before disappearing.

He blinked his eyes.

The world came back into focus, as they sped downwards, following Lord Voldemort's ashy trail. A ghastly pain still thrummed through his fingers as he jerked through the air, to land shakily onto the jagged rocks.

Lord Voldemort looked over them all. "You know what must be done," he said. "Go."

In their silver-gold masks, the Death Eaters were glimmering gods of death, black cloaks rippling with the harsh winds. Together, they tapped their wands against the brooms, vanishing it immediately.

Hydrus stood off to the side, awkwardly waiting as the professor did it for them.

The Death Eaters split it into groups of two, disappearing with the thick mist.

"Come along now," the professor said. His voice was barely a whisper against the gale. "Quickly."

The ground underneath became softer and softer, until it seemed as if they were walking on fresh dirt. Boulders, carved with the names of the deceased littered the ground with little order.

Lord Black looked at all of it, not quite feeling anything but the jarring pain in his fingers. The Death Eaters had all been sent on a business of their own, the filthy muggles floating in their wake, to be chained...

_And they won't even be able to see the Dementors, to know what caused their terror... if they even still are sentient..._

The muggles, the men and women that had once been hammered to the wall - no, they were not sane anymore. All had sputtered and given weak coughs as the water was poured on their faces, and as Lucius remarked in a quiet, cold voice, "If they are not even aware of our actions, we can hardly torture them."

Lord Voldemort had praised his thinking and ordered that the muggles be taken off the rusty nails, to be put in cells. For a week, it fell to one house-elf, a small, pinkish floppy-eared wonder of innocence, to feed them, clothe them, clean their by-products and nurse them back to health.

The meeting following those seven days had cursed Hydrus with nightmares so virulent even the Dreamless Sleep Potion couldn't keep them away. Shrieks and moans had filled the Great Hall, bouncing off of walls, digging its sharp claws into his ears, until hours later, the world still rang with the echo of their screams.

Lord Voldemort had commanded they continue until finally, they gave no response when Macnair dragged a knife across their skin, and when Avery dumped scalding oil over their heads, they did nothing but blink. They were vegetables now, capable of naught but staring at the wall of their small cell, drool clinging to their chin, as ever-present as a beard.

_Perhaps it is for the better. If they cannot feel, then they shall not have to endure the sorrow of the Dementors. A painless. A better fate than what you gave to Belvina Black. Reassure yourself with this information, before the wall comes crumbling down. Before it crumbles down... _

Hydrus looked high into the stormy sky and saw the wraith-like wisps of grey smoke, seeming almost to blend in with the background. They encircled them all, floating over all of Azkaban like the gods they might as well have been.

The professor cleared his throat and glanced over at Lord Black. "His cell is this way."

Hydrus knew as well as him. Lucius had stolen the map from the Ministry, and even without, it wouldn't have been difficult to guess the final resting place of the Wizarding World's most feared man.

Far away, shouts could be heard, distressed wailings that rang over and over; the cry of insanity ringing its brass bells.

Lord Black squinted his eyes and saw naught but shifting, swirling mist. It was impossible to tell if the shrieks had been from a Death Eater.

_But no, of course not. They're better than that._

Still, a strange feeling of worry stewed in his stomach, that made him swivel his head round and round until his neck felt a deep ache that was normally reserved for his circlet.

Lord Black flexed his hands, feeling his nerves tingle with residual pain.

"Come."

He looked over. The professor had done a clean job, clearing the grey-blue mortared stone, until a passageway snaked directly into the centre of the prison.

It seemed to emanate a ghastly sound, a queer combination of moans and shrieks as if condemned spirits made the great fortress their final place of rest.

His palms twitched as flames danced across them, no longer blue-and-orange as they usually were, but a strange red-brown, as if dried blood clung to his hands. They gave so very little light, and with every drop of water that fell onto the fire, it writhed and jerked, as if fighting a malign poison.

Lord Black raised his chin and stepped into Azkaban.

The walls were jagged rocks, as unkempt and wild as the savage North Sea. Torches were hung every two feet, glowing with orange flames. Nonetheless, shadows pooled in the corners, black pits of despair.

Hydrus Malfoy did not dare look to his side, to see them, slumped against stone walls, gazing listlessly at their fingers, mumbling incoherently to themselves. But his eyes had a mind of their own, and they wandered left and right, caught in a trance, staring at each body, inhaling the sight of their ragged hair, their gaunt faces, and the hollow, insane look to their eyes.

Some would snarl, others would weep. Some banged against the bars as he passed, with a strange, inhuman force. They looked like demons - ragged, patched hair clinging onto their scalp, their faces like wilted prunes, their eyes… unfocused and crazed.

Others he passed would shriek as they saw the flames in his palms, scampering to the corner of their cells, their thin, gnarled hands reaching to cover their eyes.

The worst were the ones who still clung to their sanity with an iron grip, who must have not been there for very long, who shouted for him, who cried silver tears, who begged an end to their suffering…

Lord Black walked past them all, listening to the spirits of the damned wail and moan. _There is nothing you can do for them. They are beyond your saving._

They wound their way up stairs and past heavy doors, through long strings of cells where witches and wizards lay, slumped on cement benches, a clouded look to their eyes. Drool ran down their chin, and the air smelt of feces.

For a moment, he stopped.

"You can't save them, Hydrus."

_Yes, I know_. He turned to the professor. "Alice and Frank Longbottom were tortured until insanity."

"They were."

Lord Black stared at him coldly. "You tortured Hermione."

His face was smooth and impassive. "We don't have much time."

The professor continued, leaving Hydrus Malfoy to stare at the man, watching him moan and wail, his face so thin and pale it might have been a skull.

_That could have been Hermione._

For a long time, he stared at the man, gazing at the clumps of silver-grey hair that seemed one tug away from being forever disengaged from his scalp. Then, with a horrible bubbling feeling in his stomach, Hydrus walked after the professor.

__(O.O)__

Lord Black looked at him.

He lay in his cell, staring at the stone walls, a blank, distracted look to his face. His striped jumpsuit was ragged and ripped, frayed at the edges and covered in dirt.

He looked nothing like the pictures.

In silence, the professor tapped the bars, watching as they flew open. "Careful," he said.

Lord Black ignored him.

His dragonskin boots echoed on the floor, a steady thumping amidst the moans and shrieks. They kept the man away from the rest, locked behind thick concrete walls, three feet wide and a thousand feet tall, in a column that stretched to the top of Azkaban.

A pail sat overturned in the corner, its contents a sloshy mess of urine and fecal matter that spilled onto the floor, staining the stone a strange yellow-brown colour. Lord Black side-stepped it and kneeled carefully beside the man.

His hands shook themselves free of the flames, and slowly, he took off his hood.

The man looked up. His eyes were hollow, hugged by dark purple voids, his face marred by wrinkles and creases. Dark black hair, long and ragged, pooled at his neck.

_Azkaban has broken him, _Lord Black thought. _He cannot be sane._

"Sirius," he said.

But the words that came through his mouth were steady. "James?"

"I'm not James, Sirius. I'm Harry."

His eyes were cloudy, shifting swirls of grey smoke. "Harry?"

"His son, Sirius. I'm his son."

Trembling hands reached for his cheeks, cupping them with a strange gentleness. "Harry," he whispered. "Harry Potter."

"Yes," Lord Black said. "I'm Harry Potter."

"You've grown," he mumbled. "I can't remember… but your eyes… they're green… like Lily's… and - and your hair… not as messy perhaps…" Slowly, his hands pulled away. "Have you come to save? From my nightmares?"

_Oh, Sirius Black, _Hydrus thought. _Your nightmares have just begun_.

He reached for the man's shoulder. "Yes. We're here, Sirius. We've come to save you."

Tears streamed down cheeks, wiping away the thick layers of grime with soft caresses. "Really?"

But it wasn't to him Lord Black was looking.

His eyes met the professor's eyes and saw the swirl of grey-blue sea foam. "Yes. Yes, of course."

__(O.O)__

They were the last to reach the top, as rain and wind pounded against their thick, black cloaks. The Death Eaters stood in a circle, some in striped rags, others in robes that flowed like water from their shoulders.

When they came close, the storm seemed to stop, pounding against an invisible dome that stretched to the sky.

Lord Voldemort watched them approach, his dark red eyes bright with twisted joy. "And how is he? The man of the hour, the great, formidable Sirius Black, slayer of twelve muggles… and lieutenant to He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named…"

A ripple of laughter coursed through the Death Eaters, jeers uttered behind silver-golden masks, taunts thrown from behind gridded mouths. And then, it came, bursting like a nest of wasps, a buzzing that flew through the air; a delirious cackle that ripped through the guffaws like a knife slicing into human flesh.

He watched as she jerked her head backwards, her dark frizzy curls bouncing as she giggled, her heavy-lidded eyes wide with insanity. She was thin; pale skin pulled over bulging bones, her face ridden with stark shadows.

"Sirius Black," Bellatrix Lestrange crooned. Her clothes were torn and ragged, dark with dirt, her nails chipped and broken, yet somehow, a sort of nobility followed her, an aura that hung from her shoulders like a thick, velvet cape. "Is this him? That coward. Little Sirius. Little Sirius. Look at me, little Sirius. _LOOK AT ME._"

Hydrus Malfoy watched as she sauntered over, her lips twisted into a grin so wide it threatened to break her face in two. Carefully, he looked up at Sirius Black, watching as he frowned.

"Who are you?" he said. His voice was hoarse, the sound of splintering wood. "Wormtail. The traitor. Peter Pettigrew. Is he here?" Sirius Black gripped Hydrus' arm. "Who are they, Harry? Why does he have red eyes? Is he -?"

"Come, Bella," Lord Voldemort ordered. An odd smile made his features twist. "There is much to be done." Hydrus watched as she shot one last horrifying grin, before skipping back to his side, her hair bouncing with each step.

And then, he turned his gaze to the sky, his red eyes bright with passion. "Grand Warden. It is an honour to bask in your presence once more."

At first, Hydrus could not see what he meant. He squinted, and then saw it, descending from the sky, a swirl of grey smoke floating with the wind. The rain, the gale; all of it seemed to follow the ashy creature, breaking through the translucent barrier the Dark Lord had erected, a fine mist cloaking the air.

It came to a stop before Lord Voldemort.

Hydrus could see it clearly for the first time, the ripples of fabric he had thought were vapour, the hood of his cloak…

But it couldn't be. It couldn't be one of them.

His hands - he flexed them - they didn't burn. They didn't ache, they didn't scream with agony.

No, it could not be a real Dementor… and yet… and yet...

Bony hands snaked from the sleeves of its robes, hands that were the colour of cinders, hands that might once have been hale and plump, the peachy colour of human flesh; but time had run its jagged knives across the tissue, carving away all that was pink, until grisly bones remained, with bits of rotting muscle clinging to the corpse. They reached for what should have been his head, and slowly, the great monster pulled down its hood.

A strangled cry escaped from Sirius Black, his hands tightening their grip on Hydrus' arm, digging his gritty nails with a ferocity alien to someone so very frail. The wail was echoed across them all, a miasma of silent horrification that hung over the Death Eaters.

It was as if someone had torched the Grand Warden's face, for there was nothing but yellowed bone with bits of brown flesh, clinging to their mother with an iron will. Black soot darkened the great gaping holes where eyes should have been, and a deep voice came from the lipless mouth.

"_Unum est gravius morte,_" it whispered.

The rain stopped.

Lord Voldemort bowed his head. "_Scilicet amicus._"

And through the gloom, their voices echoed.

"_Unum est gravius morte,"_ the Dementors whispered, hidden in the dark clouds. "_Pactam ad vitam."_

__(O.O)__

For the first time in eleven years, the entirety of the Inner Circle was reunited, seated around the finest table gold could buy.

There was a sort of familiarity between all of them; no matter what state of black-and-white rags they might have worn, an air of nobility followed their every move. Chins were raised, backs were straight, a sort of pride - a pride that defeated even fear - that filled the room, that made even the most skeptical man beam with great joy.

Lord Black watched them all, from the left-hand side of the Dark Lord, watching their silver-gold masks catch the candlelight, watching others who did not possess the coveted masks...

His gaze drifted from Lucius to Narcissa... his parents they were...

_Not anymore, _Hydrus Malfoy thought. _They are nothing to me, now. Nothing but another Death Eater._

It was this affirmation that brought him the courage to meet Narcissa's eyes, to see the swirl of dark bronze, filled with sorrow, filled with fear, filled with the sort of motherly love that had somehow developed deep inside of her. Her face was pale, her lips plump and red, but there was nothing in the world that could hide terror.

_She has lost weight_, Lord Black thought, gazing at her cheekbones. They jutted from her complexion in the same inhuman way they did on Bellatrix Lestrange's face. _What more will she lose in the coming months?_

His stomach was a hard knot, for he could hear Lord Voldemort's words, whispering their prophetic tone. "_You are young,_" he had said, watching him with his dark red eyes. "_But the young can be groomed."_ Hydrus knew, he knew what he planned, why Dementors were to be stationed there... oh the Dark Lord had his plans... he would not tell them... until it would be too late to thwart.

"And so here we are," Lord Voldemort rumbled. His gaze travelled across the Death Eaters, a fond smile gracing his lips as he watched them all. "Ten-and-a-half years it has been... ten-and-a-half years since my most devout have dwelled in Azkaban..." One of his fingers reached out and stroked Bellatrix Lestrange's chin. "The Dark Lord always delivers... Alecto... Amycus... Antonin... Jugson... Rabastan… Rodolphus... Rowle... Yaxley... and of course... the greatest, most powerful... my dear Bella..."

She giggled, her dark eyes wide with delirium.

Hydrus felt a hand clamp onto his wrist and heard Sirius Black whisper into his ear. "Who are these people, Harry?"

_Shut up_, he wanted to say, _before the Dark Lord hears your words. No one interrupts Lord Voldemort and lives to tell the tale._

"What is that?" the Dark Lord demanded. "Sirius Black? Did you have something to say?"

Laughter made its way across the table, a deep, brass-like sound that could be heard from behind the silver-gold masks.

Hydrus felt the hand loosen from his wrist.

"Where is Peter Pettigrew?" Sirius Black demanded. "He will die for what he has done."

The Dark Lord looked at him. "And what has this Peter Pettigrew done to you?"

"_He betrayed me,_" Sirius Black roared.

_Shut up, _Hydrus Malfoy thought. _The Dark Lord always delivers… that may mean death for your insolence… this carpet has seen enough blood. Do not add yours in there… do not…_

"And so you wish to end his life?"

"Yes," said Sirius Black. Sweat matted his forehead, twinkling like golden beads in the candlelight. "That's what I said."

Lord Voldemort studied him, his dark red eyes appraising, in the way a lion studied a jackalope; in the way predator stalked prey. "I have heard tales… I had to be sure, of course, seeing you… yes, your sense of vengeance is undeniable… I have Peter Pettigrew."

Sirius Black bolted upright, his knuckles turned white as they clenched the edge of the table. "_Then bring him to me._"

There was a new air to the Dark Lord's mannerism. "There, there, Sirius Black, not so fast." A round of nervous laughter passed through the Death Eaters. "You see, Peter Pettigrew has wronged me too. Did you know that? Oh yes, he has betrayed me as well -"

"_I don't even know who you are_."

"Quite unfortunate. It seems introductions are in order. I am Lord Voldemort, the leader of a group of noble vigilantes come to instill honour and virtue upon all those we meet. You must understand -"

"I _understand_ what you say," Sirius Black growled. "But _Peter Pettigrew _is _mine. _He betrayed me! He - he -"

Lord Voldemort had a strange, benign look to his eyes; the sparkle that Albus Dumbledore always seemed to have whenever he spoke to Hydrus Malfoy. "You see, there is a sacred rule among my following. Whoever deals the sentence, must also swing the sword, so to speak, of course. To contest that… is to go to war with my followers… we do not want that of course… we are… benevolent in all ways possible… of course…"

Hydrus watched Narcissa's eyes, glued to Sirius Black, as if hoping, praying her cousin would find his wits…

"I have no qualms with you -"

"Ah, but to execute Peter Pettigrew when it should be one of my following… that is a declaration of war…"

"_I don't care -_"

"And here I thought you'd like to join us…"

Sirius Black snarled. "_Give me Peter Pettigrew."_

"You wish justice for a crime committed against you… ten years unrightfully imprisoned in Azkaban… I wish justice, too, Sirius Black. You and I… we have the same goals. We are justice-seekers, as are my followers… What can one man do against the world? Nothing... But what can a thousand?" The Dark Lord raised his chin, his grey lips pulled into a twisted smile. "_Everything._"

Sirius Black growled. "And you'll give me Pettigrew?"

"I'll give you much more than that, Sirius Black." He turned his gaze to the professor. "Go fetch Wormtail."

In the minutes of deathly silence that followed, Sirius Black stared into the depthless red pits that were the Dark Lord's eyes, his gaze calm and commanding.

Hydrus shifted in his seat but did not dare let his unease be shown.

The professor returned, his steps silent and graceful, a train of rope in his hand… and behind him, trailing in his wake, was a short stout man, almost dragged as whimpers escaped from his mouth.

_It can't be, _Hydrus thought. _The Dark Lord still needs him… why… unless… the map was already found… but Wormtail still has his uses. He's an animagus… he can turn into a rat… a perfect spy…_

"_Peter Pettigrew,_" Sirius Black hissed. He raced to the man, his chair clattering to the floor.

It happened so quickly - for a moment, Wormtail was shaking on his feet, his hands spasming as if on fire - the next, he was rolling on the floor, his head whacked against the carpet, over and over, the sound a steady thrum in Hydrus' mind.

"_TRAITOR_," Sirius Black roared. His fist thudded against Peter Pettigrew's lips. They burst like an overripe pomegranate, its sweet, red juices crawling down his chin. "_Traitor, traitor, traitor. _Say their names, Wormtail. The names of your best friends, the names of the people… the people you betrayed. _Say them, Wormtail. SAY THEM._"

But his knuckles had already crashed into Peter Pettigrew's throat, and there was a large, purplish bruise, a flat, unmoving hollow where his trachea should have been…. Gasps were coming from his mouth, short, high-pitched breaths. The area around his lips had turned blue... as had the edges of his face, his fingernails...

Wormtail raked his hands across Sirius Black's arms, trying desperately to take a breath - but it was all in vain of course.

His windpipe had been crushed.

Peter Pettigrew twitched once, then twice, and his hands that had tried to defend his face - they fell to the floor, the tips of his sleeves parting, revealing pale flesh. Lord Black looked at him.

Blood ran down his face, thin red worms, digging their way into the carpet, leaving behind them a trail of brutality. The air smelt of feces, but Hydrus paid it no mind. It was difficult to tell… and yet… and yet… Wormtail's wrists…

There were no red bands that had flashed and glowed as Lord Voldemort burned them into his skin. No, nothing but pale flesh, pale like milk, paler and paler, as more blood leaked onto the floor.

Sirius Black kneeled over the corpse, his dark eyes alight with vengeance. His right fist was bent at the wrong angle, jerked violently to the side, his fingers already beginning to swell. If he could feel pain, the man did not show it. "Tell me," he said quietly, "how many more men are there? How many more have escaped rightful justice? How many more shall we punish?"

"A thousand, a million, a billion, perhaps more, perhaps less. You enjoyed it, didn't you?"

"Of course," he breathed.

"Then know that the war has already begun. Justice shall prevail... rise Sirius Black, and take on a name worthy of a Death Eater."

"My..." Sirius Black stopped as if tasting how the words sounded in his mouth. "My Lord?"

"Sirius Black was the name of a broken man, chained in the pits of Azkaban... it is a rebirth of sorts..." Lord Voldemort passed his gaze around the table. "Are there any suggestions?"

No one spoke.

Hydrus felt a sort of dangerous sense of foreboding, a sense of self-preservation. That was a horrible glint to the Dark Lord's eyes, and no one wanted to bring his attention.

"My Lord," Bellatrix Lestrange simpered. She gave him a carnal smile. "You should call him mongrel."

The Dark Lord watched Sirius Black, a mockery lying in his gaze. "Howl for us, mongrel. Show us who you truly are."

Lord Black watched as the beast threw back his head and let out a throaty cry, his hands stained red with Wormtail's blood.

_I was wrong, _Hydrus Malfoy thought, strangely calm. _Azkaban has broken him._

* * *

**A/N:**

**What an interesting chapter. It went in a completely different direction than I had anticipated.**

**To my Latin-reading/writing readers... yep you guessed right... that was horrible Latin... Google Translate can only do so much... *sigh*. For any of you guys wondering, that moment where Lord Voldemort speaks to the Grand Warden on the roof of Azkaban, they say this:**

**"There is one thing worse than death_,_" it whispered. **

**The rain stopped.**

**Lord Voldemort bowed his head. "_And that is you, my friend__._"**

**And through the gloom, their voices echoed.**

**"_There is only one thing worse than death,"_ the Dementors whispered, hidden in the dark clouds. "_The alliance lives on__."_**

**Don't even try to Google Translate the original words to English... they're not gonna make much sense XD**

**Special thanks to KingZeRopL for taking the time to review my story!**

**I'm super glad that you enjoyed the last chapter, but I am worried though, that this will end up becoming a GoT fanfic with HP characters... I actually kind of... regret having Norberta as a thing... the parallels that exist right now between this fanfic and Dany's character arc is... a little too close for comfort. What to d'you [guys] think?**

**As always, thanks for reading!**

**Cheers**


	26. Chapter 26

The morning light filtered through the large oval windows; bright and golden, vivid as Hermione's shiny curls - his gaze swept over the Main Hall and landed on the professor's smooth head.

It was for the best if he did not think of her.

Hydrus took a seat at the table, feeling the terse, agitated atmosphere. The air smelt of rank liquor, mixed with the putrid stench of bile. Incense burned in three of the hearths, but it only made it worse, as if someone had chewed a leaf or two of sage - perhaps the entire plant - and puked it all over the floor.

Any appetite he might have had was suddenly gone, and so Hydrus Malfoy shoved food down his throat in the cold company of the professor and Rodolphus Lestrange.

The house-elves had prepared toast and butter, all sorts of marmalades and jams, fresh fruits plucked from the orchards, scrambled eggs and hot bacon… yet the man touched none of it.

He stared into the distance, his dark eyes unfocused, brown stubble clinging to his chin. There was a sort of broodiness to him, a wave of repressed anger only waiting to explode. Hydrus thought he knew why.

Her screams had reverberated throughout the castle, jarring and shrill, waking even him, sedated under the effects of the Dreamless Sleep Potion. It seemed it was not with her lawful husband that Bellatrix Lestrange had spent the night.

The professor turned to him and set down the paper. "You ought to see this."

He reached out and set the paper before Hydrus. Lord Black took it, and reflexively, he gave a nod of thanks. It had been so very long since he had last _read _something.

There were twenty-four hours in a day, and he spent almost a third of that with Norberta, another quarter sparring with the professor. The words came to him, but it felt stiff and unnatural. He should read more often. The thought was a bizarre one in his mind.

_A recent investigation has led to the dismissal of Quirinus Quirrell, professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts, after the use of the Cruciatus Curse on a student. A warrant for his arrest has been made, yet the man has not been sighted in over six weeks._

_An investigation has also been launched, regarding the competency of the current Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore. Wards have been placed around the magical institution to detect any use of Unforgivable Curses, and Rune Masters from all over the country have assured us that the wards are in perfect order. The Headmaster of Hogwarts was notified of the use of the Cruciatus Curse, yet did nothing, until the student herself was brought before him, shaking from the after-effects._

"_It's sheer incompetence, really," says Augusta Longbottom, grandmother to a first-year student. "The man is too old to be running a school - madness has gripped him. Albus Dumbledore was a formidable wizard in his youth, I do not doubt, but the achievements of our past do not define who we currently are. I say he ought to resign. A man of such irresponsibility is not fit to be the Headmaster of any school, much less a great institution as Hogwarts."_

_The concerned sentiment was echoed across many parents, who have since then called for the resignation of Albus Dumbledore. For more information on pending results, visit page 5._

"_I visited her," says Lucius Malfoy, member of the Board of Governors. "Such a fierce spirit, unbroken by the horrendous acts committed against her. She will be returning to Hogwarts in the fall - her parents insisted she return to the muggle world - she is a muggle-born - but the young witch refused. There is something special about the girl. A one to watch in the coming years."_

_The young witch will be making a full recovery, the Healers at St. Mungo's assure us of as much. As for the Headmaster of Hogwarts? His fate is not so certain._

For a long moment, there was nothing but the sound of eating, as the professor took dainty bites of his bacon and scrambled eggs. Hydrus Malfoy looked at him.

By cursing her… Hermione would be protected by the Ministry over the summer… she could not be harmed by the Dark Lord… and when the attack came in the fall… she would most likely not be there…

_I am in your debt_, _Quirrell. You have saved her in ways that I never could._

Their eyes met for a moment, and slowly, his thanks were passed. Quirinus Quirrell gave a nod.

Then, Hydrus Malfoy spoke.

"Will he be sacked?"

Rodolphus Lestrange turned his gaze over to them, his dark eyes swirling with resentment. "Who?"

"The Headmaster," Lord Black told him, feeling the sudden discomfort of speaking to a man who had spent ten years in a prison cell. "Albus -"

"Albus bloody Dumbledore," he spat. "All the better for us then. Without power, the old codger can't very well fathom to start his little army of squawking pigeons." Rodolphus Lestrange tapped his empty glass. "I want whisky."

Hydrus Malfoy could smell the rank odour of alcohol that clung to the man like a dark cloak. "I'll have the house-elves bring something -"

"_Now,_ damn you."

"Mondor, a bottle of Odgen's finest Firewhisky, please."

He appeared, giving a grand bow, his floppy ears brushing against the carpet.

In silence, they finished their meal.

__(O.O)__

The news of Sirius Black's escape spread like fiendfyre across the Wizarding community. All the Daily Prophet ever posted was pictures of the illusive man; reports, accounts, false sightings and more… they told the story of Harry Potter once more, the infamous Boy-Who-Lived, the jagged lightning scar, the defeat of You-Know-Who.

Lord Voldemort had laughed when he read the article, before ordering that all copies of the Daily Prophet were to be burned and that the subscription could go on no longer.

"Filth," the Dark Lord told them. "I will not have it read in my presence."

Nonetheless, Hydrus had a good look at the paper before they were all burned, and read the various little quotations of all sorts of witches and wizards, sending their prayers, cursing the Ministry for their incompetence… others wondering if Sirius Black knew that Harry Potter had been emancipated… what would happen…

It was all useful information to have. In half a week, he would go meet with Cornelius Fudge, as he said a month and a half past in the Wizengamot courtroom. This would be good to sway the man, as the Dark Lord might have intended.

When the time came to meet the Minister, Lord Black wore his best robes and Floo'd over to the Ministry.

Cornelius Fudge greeted him with a nervous handshake. "Lord Black," he said, his portly frame jiggling as he walked to his desk.

The Minister of Magic's office was a quiet, boring place, where the walls were wooden, the floor wooden and all of his cabinets wooden. Great gaping windows showed a magically enchanted outside, a pleasant view of mountains and lakes and forests.

"There's no need to call me Lord Black, Minister," he said. "Hydrus shall do."

Not for the first time, a headache was creeping along the fringes of his forehead, cursing him for another sleepless night. They had started diluting the Dreamless Sleep Potion, half a quart of water for every two of the sedative. The nightmares had come, but it was better, the professor told him than having an addiction.

It was for the better then, that he had omitted the silver-bronze circlet from his outfit.

Cornelius Fudge took Lord Black's words with a more calm, comforting smile. "You are too kind, Hydrus. Too kind by half."

They took their seats, the Minister of Magic on a throne-like contraption that swivelled as he sat down, and him on a common, cushioned chair.

"The passing of your grandmother, Lady Belvina Black has been most unfortunate," Cornelius Fudge said. He clasped his fingers together. "It is a tremulous time for all, and for you especially. My condolences, Hydrus. I did not know her well, but I know she must have been a wise and strong woman to have influenced you as such. Becoming emancipated is such a daunting step to take, and I may only congratulate you for having the courage to do so."

Lord Black smiled graciously. "And you say I am too kind. Your words are too generous, Minister."

Cornelius Fudge fingered the edge of his ever-present lime-green bowler hat. "There is no need for such formalities… at least… while we remain in private… do feel free to call me Cornelius."

"You honour me, Cornelius," Lord Black told him.

They shared a quiet moment of satisfaction, as each smiled to themselves with barely concealed glee.

"Cornelius," he said. All of last night, he had been mulling over his words, trying to find a way to worm the information from him… "You are a competent Minister. Has anyone ever told you so?"

"You are too kind, Hydrus…"

His voice was warm and relaxed, but his eyes were sharp and eager, ready to consider the next words of his eleven-year-old guest.

"I do not wish for there to be enmity between us," Lord Black told him.

"Oh, no." Sweat had broken out on Cornelius Fudge's forehead, and he twiddled his fingers nervously. "No, no, you are a marvellous young man… I would never want for such…"

"I do not intend to return to Hogwarts, Minister," Lord Black said. "While the happenings there maybe none of my business, a close friend of mine is a student, who has been grievously injured due to… incompetence in the teacher selection process."

At the word 'incompetence', Cornelius Fudge leaned forward.

Lord Black continued. "An Unforgivable Curse was used on her, Minister. Hogwarts used to be the safest place a young witch or wizard could ever attend. And now? I am not so sure."

"Yes," he said hesitantly.

"Especially ever since the escape of Sirius Black…" Hydrus Malfoy forced a look of deep chagrin, made easier when he thought of Hermione. "He will go to Hogwarts, Minister, for that is where I should be. My friends - innocent students - they all live there. Please, reassure me that they will be alright, Minister. I understand I shouldn't be telling you how to run a school but…"

Cornelius Fudge lay a hand on his wrist. "Measures are being taken -"

"_Such as what_?" Perhaps he had gone too far. For a moment, Hydrus could see it in his eyes - a rapid shift, a flicker of something - but then it was gone. "I - I do apologize for what I have said…"

"No, no, no, none of that…"

"It is only… my very best friend was cursed - _tortured_ by a professor. I do not want more harm to come to her… or any other student… please, Minister, reassure my worries… tell me I have no reason to fear."

Cornelius Fudge fumbled with his lime-green bowler hat. "There are to be Aurors stationed in Hogsmeade, security checks, the mail… security will be increased come tomorrow… plans have been made -"

"Azkaban has Dementors," Lord Black said.

"Hogwarts is not a prison -"

"My brother -" _my brother whom I haven't spoken to in weeks _"- my brother attends Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy, son of Lucious Malfoy. For his sake, and for the sake of all the students who will be put in danger because of me…"

The Minister of Magic stopped fumbling with his hat. Slowly, he reached for a quill. "A favour."

"A favour," Lord Black agreed. "But not for me. For the lives of the students inside of Hogwarts."

"Yes," said Cornelius Fudge. "Of course."

And he began to write.

__(O.O)__

The school year had ended half a week ago, but Hydrus Malfoy never would have known. He spent his days in the purple-blue dome, training Norberta to follow his every command. She learned quickly, but grew even faster, growing so fast she seemed to stretch like a rubber band. Her scales were like flakes of black obsidian, catching the light as she scampered across the green grass, a flash of gold-and-silver.

Norberta had learned to fly, unfurling her black, translucent wings, grown three feet long over the months. She flew in circles, her weight oddly unbalanced by her extra head. It took time, hours spent, watching as she dipped through the sky, flying in odd lines, before, slowly, her tail learned to compensate for what her head could not.

"Norberta," Hydrus Malfoy commanded. "Fly."

The larger of her heads - Hydrus had taken to thinking of her as Bumelia - blinked its red eyes and roared.

A torrent of golden flames escaped from her mouth, the fire catching on his Acromantula Silk robes, draping him like a fiery cloak. They tickled Lord Black, kissing him with their small, passionate lips.

It seemed, work still had to be done.

"Does it ever hurt?" His voice was hoarse like dry wood, splintering into a thousand pieces as he spoke.

Hydrus Malfoy turned around.

From behind the purple-blue dome, Sirius Black stood, his pale skin shining like ice. The Dark Lord had decreed that no mutt shall ever wear clothes, and so, the beast had been granted the freedom of the castle, as all dogs were given, to wear naught but a leather collar around his neck.

"The fire you mean?"

Sirius Black nodded vigorously. His dark hair, grown ragged inside of Azkaban, bounced as he bobbed his head, in the same delirious way it did on Bellatrix Lestrange. "Yes," he said. "The fire."

Hydrus shrugged. "It cannot hurt me. Magic is strange, Sirius Black -"

"_My name is Mongrel,_" he roared.

Lord Black looked at the beast. _I suppose it is. _"Fire cannot hurt me, Mongrel. It seems Dementors cannot hurt you either. Magic has a will of its own."

"Dementors," the beast whispered. "Yes, I remember them. That's all… that's all I remember from before… before the Dark Lord saved me… he saved me from the darkness…" His hands shook as he spoke, trembling like leaves blown in the wind. "But the cold… the cold still follows… I want to be warm… can I feel the fire? Can I feel it?"

Hydrus Malfoy did not know what to do. There was a sort of maniacal glint in his eyes, a horrible sparkle of insanity that made him want to run away. He lay a finger on Bumelia and whispered, "Go now, before you scare our visitor."

The head gave him a look filled with reproach and ambled in the opposite direction, snorting grey smoke as she went. Her other head turned all the while, its fiery eyes watching Sirius Black with avid curiosity.

"The Dark Lord has ordered me to obey your every word," the mongrel said to him. "May… may I enter? To feel the fire?"

Slowly, Hydrus nodded.

The dome parted for him like the watery sheets of a curtain, welcoming the beast into the hot, dry sanctuary made to contain the only two-headed dragon to ever exist.

His gaze was reverent as he stepped before Lord Black, his bronze eyes staring at the orange flames that danced across Hydrus Malfoy's cape. "Can… can I touch it?"

"The fire will hurt you."

"Fire is nothing to sorrow… to the cold… to ice…" Sirius Black reached out a shaky hand and caressed the fiery light that danced across Hydrus Malfoy's cape.

"You shouldn't -"

"I should."

His fingers began to sizzle, growing red and hot like thin sausages. The beast let out a delirious moan of pleasure, whispering all the while, "Kiss me fire, kiss me with your passion… kiss me… kiss me…"

They were darkening like burned wood, turning black like soot.

"Take your fingers out of the fire," Hydrus demanded. He tried to move but found that his feet stayed firmly planted to the grass. "You're going to burn your fingers off. Take them out, Mongrel. _Take them out."_

"Kiss me," the beast whispered. "Kiss me, fire. Make we warm again."

His forefinger was nothing but a grisly bone, blackened on the edges, burned clean from the flames. Still, Sirius Black ran it across the blaze, murmuring his words in quiet prayer.

"Norberta," Hydrus cried. From a half a hundred paces away the two-headed dragon let loose a burst of golden flames.

She raced across the grass, her talon-less feet crunching anything in its way. Fifty pounds of dragon meat crashed against Sirius Black, sending him sprawling to the ground.

"Kiss me fire," he whispered, as Norberta rammed her four legs into him. "Kiss me."

Hydrus found that he could move his feet once more. He looked down at the beast, watching him clutch his right hand reverently, staring at the blackened remains of his fingers with awe. It was possible to see pale bone in three of his digits, jutting from pale flesh like yellowish knives.

He spared one last glance towards Sirius Black before he turned his eyes back to the castle. The Dark Lord would want to hear of this.

__(O.O)__

"My Lord," Hydrus Malfoy said, bowing as he entered the room.

The office was small and quiet, a table set for planning with scrolls of yellowed parchment and gilded pots of ink. Three chairs had been placed, only two of which were occupied; Lord Voldemort sat facing the door, Quirinus Quirrell to his right.

Hydrus had not had the moment to properly thank the man for what he had done… _I am so very deep in his debt… does the Dark Lord know what he has done?_

"And so here we are," said the Dark Lord. His fingers were thin, iron daggers as he reached for a scroll. They unravelled it with a delicate sort of elegance, spreading it out onto the wooden surface, flattening the edges before looking up. "There are twenty Death Eaters in the Inner Circle… a thousand Dementors… with the werewolves, we are perhaps twelve hundred strong. Enough to lay attack to Hogwarts… but then after that, the Ministry will be ready for us…"

Hydrus studied the parchment. It was a map of a great castle, with towers and halls and rooms and kitchens; not Hogwarts - there were too many floors, too little battlements…

"Do you recognize this place?" Lord Voldemort tapped his fingernail against the parchment. "This is Durmstrang, the greatest Wizarding Institute of Sweden. Their future Ministry workers will come from here, and nowhere else. To secure their allegiance is to secure the future of this country. Igor Karkaroff, the defector, he is the Headmaster there… had he returned that night… Nonetheless, the future graduates should be ours… there is growing unrest in the school… they do not admit mudbloods. Did you know that? I suppose you do now. Not too long ago, Gellert Grindelwald reigned with terror over Eastern Europe… there are still fanatics, there will always be. All we need to do is find them."

"More allies will come as time goes on, my Lord," said the professor. "You need not worry -"

The Dark Lord waved his hand. "Yes, yes, they shall come. But first, I must prove myself a necessary threat… it will be easy to attack Hogwarts, with the aid of the Dementors and the incompetence of the British Ministry… but then my return will be public knowledge and that cannot be afforded. Half of my most trusted Inner Circle is of dubious loyalty, the other is insane from spending ten years inside of a prison. Do you understand my current position? I have followers, yes, and I have allies, yes, but not the strength to take a country. The school year at Durmstrang will end in a fortnight. By then, should I play my cards correctly… we shall have two hundred perfectly capable wizards…."

Lord Voldemort tapped his finger once more against the yellowed parchment, a look of mild satisfaction writ upon his face. "They will need to be introduced, of course, carefully, to ensure that none lose faith and report my return to the Ministry… that task shall fall to you, Quirinus, through whatever means necessary. Your creativity and inspiration have proved invaluable to my service. An International Portkey will leave for Germany on the morrow. Bring me the two hundred witches and wizards, and I shall reward you beyond your greatest dreams."

The professor nodded. "You honour me, my Lord."

"Go on, prepare your bags."

He rose from the chair, bowed and then left the room.

The Dark Lord watched him leave, his dark red eyes a swirl of judgement. He waited until the professor's footfalls faded into the distance before continuing. "Quirinus is fickle. The man is a loyal servant; intelligent and wise, too much, perhaps. He fooled even me. A blubbering idiot, he pretended to be when we first met; a delirious fanatic. I let my guard down. It pains me to say so, but I did.

"Keep the sharpest minds close to you, my water snake. They will bring the smartest advice and the wisest counsel. But keep them happy, for as easily as they advise you, they may come to advise the enemy."

_And who is the enemy? Albus Dumbledore? The muggles? The muggle-borns? The Ministry?_

Lord Voldemort tilted his chin as if he could read Hydrus Malfoy's thoughts. "No one is entirely loyal to a cause. There are things in the way: past priorities, family, beliefs, morals, things a sane, humane person will refuse to give up. The insane, the… fanatics, they will drop those as instinctively as a sane man will hold. You have met them yourself: the ten Death Eaters from Azkaban. They are loyal and they will die for me, but they are not naught more than machines. They will kill, they will follow whatever my orders may be… and nothing more. They cannot serve beyond violence.

"I was foolish when I struck ten years' past. Too much blood-shed, too little stability. An empire of such type does not remain a singular empire for very long. The two hundred recruits will represent the future. I do not doubt that some will be of questionable loyalty. That is alright, so long as they are aware of the great treasures they will earn while under my service."

"I mean no offence, my Lord," Hydrus began slowly, "but… to recruit new members… is not… it is… I… forgive me, my Lord -"

"The job of a recruiter is a low one, you mean?"

"I… it is not my place to question your orders, my Lord."

The Dark Lord waved his hand. "One man can only do so much. Two minds are greater than one, so long as one bow to the other. I told you to keep your smartest allies happy, and yet I send my wisest one abroad, to do the job of a common herald. Perhaps that is, in it of itself, a great honour. Perhaps, the knowledge of what the two hundred witches and wizards shall become is glory enough for him. A smart man is no threat. A smart and ambitious man, however…"

"Is he?"

"Ambitious? Yes. Very much so."

"Then - I don't understand…"

"He is intelligent and ambitious, but no matter how smart a person is, when they are wanted across Great Britain for casting an Unforgivable, their options become limited. Remember this, my dear water snake. Remember the limitations you can place around the wrists of a person."

The Dark Lord clasped his hands together. "His loyalty has been guaranteed, at least, until a better offer comes along. What about you, Hydrus Malfoy? Are you loyal?"

"Yes," he answered immediately. "Yes of course."

Lord Voldemort gave him a look. "That is a most obvious lie. Do not try to deny it. I said earlier, a sane man can only be called sane if they are willing to draw a boundary between loyalty and life. For you… you do not care for your life… it means nothing to you. But the lives of others… a certain mudblood, your brother… your ex-betrothed. I was there in Hogwarts, underneath the turban. I could not see, perhaps, but when I possessed Quirinus, I saw. I saw you, as you cried over the termination of your betrothal, as you cried over the pain of your flames. You are very much an eleven-year-old boy. Perhaps I should have known of their inherent immaturity… it was unrealistic for me… to expect a cold being prepared to lay down all that he had known… after all… that is not you…"

Hydrus Malfoy did not know what to say. "My Lord… I -"

"I am loyal? Loyal until where? Your best friend is a mudblood. Quirinus cursed her. I know very much about the impact it has had on your relationship with him. I was there. I heard. I see, now. How can the ruler of a faction of my empire be sympathetic to the mudblood cause if he is to rule in an anti-muggle empire? But then I thought, perhaps it is alright that he is kind and compassionate. Rulers stay rulers because of the control they have over their people. For some, it means fear. For others, it is kindness and justice. For most, it is a combination of both. But where do you draw the line? Do you terrorize the commons, or threaten them with punishment? Do you sprinkle gold galleons from the sky, or do you withhold the precious currency, to be given only to your most loyal? Difficult questions to answer. For most, it is easier to be feared than to be loved. More stable, in the short term. And yet… I will never die. Perhaps peace is easier. Perhaps kindness is truly the way to govern… nonetheless, regardless of what I hope to achieve, necessary sacrifices must be made…"

Lord Voldemort looked at him. "Tell me, should the day arrive, whose side will you choose?"

Hydrus Malfoy weighed his words carefully. "The right one, my Lord."

"The right one?" he repeated mockingly. "Now which one is that?"

"The one… the one which shall bring me the greatest rewards."

Lord Voldemort smiled. "You learn quickly, don't you? Serve me well, and anything you wish for shall be yours… even the mudblood… she'll be kept alive…"

"And how do you mean for me to serve you, my Lord?"

His fingers were busy as he spoke, scrawling words down on a piece of yellowed parchment. "A stable rule can only be bought when a man's key members are loyal to him, and no one else. Do you know why Quirinus taught you to use a crossbow? A knife? A bō?

"Magic leaves its traces, my water snake. Hogwarts will have stronger wards, now that you've spoken with Cornelius Fudge, nonetheless, no amount of magic will ever be able to detect common muggle oddities such as these. Complex enough to kill, yet so very simple that it does not require magic to function…"

_He admires them, _Hydrus thought with disbelief. _He admires the very thing he swore to destroy._

The Dark Lord followed his thoughts. "They develop quickly. To make up for their lack of magic, they have created bombs, nuclear weapons, other things… means of communication… devices that wizards never once could have imagined… I was alive during the Second World War - the muggle one. Do you know how it ended, my water snake? Of course, you don't. Muggle history is irrelevant to your life."

His dark red eyes were a swirl of power as he continued. "It was a nuclear weapon… a bomb… levelling Japan… I heard the news… when everyone cheered… they were saved… that was forty-five years past. What other horrors have they developed? We cannot win a war against the muggles, my water snake. Yes, I know very well what you think. The great Dark Lord fears muggles! A ludicrous thought… yet the truth nonetheless. I am sorry - I truly am - for all the mudbloods who may need to lose their lives for this… the pureblood fanatics will not follow me any other way... but if one day… the muggles discover who we are… and they declare war… we will not live to see the dawn of tomorrow… a sacrifice... to save the rest of wizardkind."

Hydrus met his gaze carefully. "I am your servant. There is no need to explain yourself, my Lord -"

"But there is. You were never fully loyal to this cause. Only, know this: the muggles are advancing a thousand times faster than we are. They outnumber our collective population one to a thousand. It is only a matter of time before a drunken fool breaches the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy… war will be declared. And we will all die. The life of your mudblood will be spared in my campaign. She is no threat to us. But her parents - her family… they will all go. It is either them… or your brother."

Lord Voldemort took Hydrus Malfoy's chin in his hands. "Do you wish to see the corpse of your brother? Burned to the bone for being a wizard? No. Of course, you do not. Save him, my water snake. Steps must be done, care that must be taken, sacrifices that must be made to build a better world. Or we can die. At the hands of the muggle race. Do you want that, Hydrus Malfoy? Do you want to see Draco die at the hands of muggles?"

"No," Lord Black whispered. "Never."

The Dark Lord gave a lipless grin. "Then tell me, do I have your backing? Until your very last breath? To do whatever is asked of me?"

Hydrus Malfoy took a deep breath. His insides were quivering, all of him shaking. The answer was at the very tip of his tongue. He knew it, from the moment Lord Voldemort started to speak.

"Yes, my Lord."

* * *

**A/N:**

**A slower chapter than I had planned... but still pretty interesting (right?)...**

**Sirius Black is a very fascinating character, and even though that scene didn't technically add to to the plot... I felt like adding it in nonetheless because of how unorthodox he is. **

**Another interesting character I touched on today is... the great Lord Voldemort himself. I've always thought of him as a pragmatist, and being around abusive muggles as a kid would probably make him fear them if anything... what do you guys think? Feel free to let me know about your interpretation of the actions of the mighty Dark Lord.**

**Special thanks to KingZeRopL for taking the time to review my story!**

**Don't be sorry for saying that my story isn't even close to GoT - that's a relief if anything. Yeah, I think because ASOiAF is the only dragon-heavy fantasy story I've ever read... my mind just goes to that whenever I write scenes with Norberta. Thank you so much for your reassurances!**

**As always, thanks for reading and I hope to see you guys next week!**

**Cheers**


	27. Chapter 27

Hydrus Malfoy dreamed that night, dreaming of a large library, filled with dusty tomes, leather-bound covers and the smell of incense.

He dreamed that he was a pale silver man, cloaked in black robes, sitting on a throne made of cushions, reading one of the many works hidden deep within the stronghold. The words… the words… they were in a script… a script that was made of letters - letters of the English alphabet, but arranged… arranged in all the wrong ways. It was not right, the order that the words that were spelt - it was a moment before he realized it was Latin, not English.

He flipped through the pages, his thin, grey fingers caressing the yellow-stained papyrus.

On and on he went, studying the inked words, reading their meanings, cursing as he set one book aside, then another, then the next, reading the index, flipping to the middle, to the end, to the beginning, running his index finger across the words… on and on… until -

Hydrus Malfoy stopped.

Slowly he got up and walked across the library - nay, floated, moving in a strange, elegant way that was too delicate to be human. His fingers reached for a quill, a pot of ink and a scroll of paper.

Hydrus Malfoy found a table, and he began to write. The wet ink shimmered like morning dew, swirls of words that made no sense to him - no, it was true English this time; not the archaic wording that the books were written in.

For a long time, he sat at the table, his only source of light a handful of tallow candles and the silver half-moon.

Then, at last, Hydrus Malfoy gave a satisfied nod and put away the quill and ink.

He read the words he had written.

"_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches _

_Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…"_

Far away, he heard the roar of a dragon. And then, Hydrus Malfoy woke up.

It seemed the Dreamless Sleep Potion was losing its potency as he diluted it with water. This was not the first time it had happened - he had dreamt of the Black library many times, but never had he written those words on parchment.

He was tempted to stop those dreams - they did not hurt him, but the future… was as perilous as his nightmares. Nevertheless, he could not. To lower the ratio was to risk addiction… and he could not afford that on his quest… his duty… to save the lives of all he loved from the hands of filthy muggles.

Slowly, Lord Black stood up and got dressed.

Later that day, he was called to the library, his message written in the swirly script as he had etched in his dreams.

He came immediately, for to keep the Dark Lord waiting was as treacherous as could be.

The library was cold in the late evening, the books kept company by a wide array of different sized candles, burning yellow flames. Through the windows, he could see a darkening sky, turned the colour of murder as the sunset.

Lord Voldemort waited on a throne of cushions, as Hydrus Malfoy had sat in his dreams. "Did you dream of last night, my water snake?"

"My Lord… I…"

"You did. This very seat was where you sat. I could not be sure, the first time it had happened… of course, now I know. I could feel you, Hydrus Malfoy. As you slept, as your mind crept into my very own, slithering… making its way past my mental defences, seeing all I see, doing all I do… how did this happen?"

He thought he knew the answer - for the red eyes, the dark red eyes that haunted his mind… they were the very same shade that graced the Dark Lord's face, that twisted as he blinked, that turned a deeper shade of crimson when enraged. They were the same person. He knew, somehow. He knew.

_Yet one tortured me for all of my childhood, and the other has raised me, to stand on a pedestal, towering above the gods themselves._

"The question can be answered later. There are more pressing topics… such as the phrases I wrote on the parchment. You saw them? Do you remember it?"

"Born at the end of July," Hydrus remembered. "With the power… to kill you… the Dark Lord…"

"A prophecy, as you have no doubt figured. Ten years past, I paid a visit to Godric Hollow for that very reason… the fates knew you were not the one… they were trying to tell that night… our connection… you could feel it… in your dreams… we are destined for more than that together."

Lord Voldemort unravelled a scroll of parchment. "_The power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. Born as the seventh dies. _There were only two children in the world born at the stroke of midnight: you, and that pudgy first-year Gryffindor who didn't know one end of his wand from another. I was almost certain it couldn't be him… yet here we are. You do not approve of the things I do and the actions I commit, that much is clear every time you look me in the eyes. Your spirit is strong and fierce, and you do not bow down easily to the will of others, but you will never raise a hand against me for you know very well what I mean to achieve. It is for your good and for the good of all those whom you love dearly. For that, you will stand beside me, and kill as I ask."

The truth in his words was strangely alarming.

"Yes, my Lord," Hydrus told him, having no other idea of what he could say.

"I ask another death from your hands. There will be a battle soon, a battle I intend to win. Do you understand that? Yes, you do. You have guessed where it shall be, who we will fight, the preparations I have made… they are coming together and very well at that. There are many things I hope to achieve on that fateful day… but only one thing that you need to do…"

Lord Voldemort reached behind him and held out a bundle of canvas, wrapped around a distinct triangular object; the leather-bound pommel just barely visible. His fingers were gentle and slow as he unravelled the fabric. "Hogwarts has a wide variety of magical wards made to detect the presence of Dark Magic… yet nothing for muggle oddities such as these. It is strange. Once more, the simplicity of a muggle invention will trump a thousand years of magical learning."

The knife had been oiled recently, glimmering like silver-gold as it caught the light of a nearby candle. Hydrus hoped he would never see it again.

"You see," Lord Voldemort told him, "prophecies do not matter when the other person is dead."

__(O.O)__

It took him a fortnight of searching, but eventually, Hydrus Malfoy found the hole he had fallen through.

The light from the room lit the cavernous space: charred stone walls, rough and the colour of slate, perhaps ten feet down. A wonder he had escaped with naught but a bruised collarbone.

"Mondor," he called. "I need you to cushion my fall."

There was no response, but when he jumped, his legs hit a soft, bouncy surface. Nonetheless, a jar of pain raced up his right ankle. Swallowing a curse, he tested his foot and grimaced as a dull throb encased his heel.

It was a different experience this time, for Hydrus Malfoy had instructed that the house-elves place torches every half a dozen feet along the length of the jagged stone. They lit the long hallway with a golden glow, and it was possible to see streaks of red blood that ran across the left wall.

How long he spent walking the passageways, Hydrus did not know, yet he came across half a hundred different openings; rectangular shapes carved into the wall, and when he pushed against them, they seemed to disappear, leading to half a hundred different places. Some were the kitchens, where Philbert, who had been making scones, almost dropped a bowl of dough onto his face. Others went to separate bedrooms, all of which were unoccupied, except for the Lord's quarters, which was Hydrus'. He marked that one in the best way he could - for he had not planned on marking any of the doors - with a smear of blood.

It hurt, but as he dragged the pad of his pointer finger, writing the words, a sense of satisfaction came to him afterwards, staring at the final product. Some of the blood had dripped downwards, and so it looked as if someone had been murdered.

He wiped his finger onto the sleeves of his robes and continued down.

There were moments when the passageways forked into six different routes, times when wood had been used to board the hallways. He did his best to knock through the planks, not wanting to feel the burn of smoke inhalation once more. The timber wasn't particularly solid; time had eaten its fair share of the rough lumber, and it crashed to the floor.

The longer he walked, the more irrelevant the pain in his ankle seemed to become. Hydrus Malfoy found glass windows, the same sort he assumed, as the one he had looked through all those weeks ago - one-way mirrors. They showed everything from empty rooms to the Main Hall to the bedrooms to the libraries.

There was a sort of timelessness about the passageways, a sort of immortality and grace that lingered in the stones. A quiet peacefulness whispered in the air, the kind of solace one finds in acceptance. It was strange what a bit of light could do to a once dark hallway -

"Master," Mondor squeaked. He appeared at Lord Black's feet, his floppy ears dragging across the rough floor as he bowed. "The professor has returned."

Hydrus Malfoy winced. His robes were black, but it had been stained with the very same blood that caked his pointer finger. "Take me to my bedroom," he ordered.

Mondor bowed and laid a small hand against the crook of his elbow.

He nodded as he disapparated, leaving Hydrus to rinse his finger and change his robes. It was a quarter of an hour later when he descended the stairs, to a mass of two hundred gangly teenagers, sitting around a table.

Some looked proud and proper, their chins raised and their backs straight, a look of calm indifference to their faces. High-born, raised in a family of old money, most likely, or perhaps, even more likely, the arrogance of youth. Others shrank in their seats, not daring to meet the Dark Lord's eyes, twiddling with their fingers, as if they were a child once more, caught eating a forbidden second serving of dessert.

Regardless of what they did, Lord Voldemort ran his gaze across them all, sitting where he always sat, at the end of the table, on a high-backed chair. The snake, Nagini, a great black-and-white terror, slithered at his feet, hissing its pale tongue at all those who dared look at him.

The Dark Lord looked up as Hydrus Malfoy entered and gave a gracious nod of his chin, then turning his bright red eyes back to the group, he said, "Has Quirinus ever told you who I am?"

Immediately someone spoke. "He said you paid well," came a voice, sitting half a dozen seats from the Dark Lord. His face was freckled, his hair the colour of liquid gold and his eyes blue like a clear sky. Perhaps if he hadn't sounded so pompous, Hydrus might have been able to regard him with a bit of seriousness. "He said you were a revolutionist, come to bring change to Europe. He said you would end the lives of all filthy muggles and mudbloods."

"I pay more than well," the Dark Lord told them all, clasping his thin, grey fingers. "And I am more than a revolutionist. Durmstrang is very blunt when it comes to its opinion on mudbloods and muggles, is it not? A world where we must watch filth scamper about, toddling as if it were a child, is not a true and proper one. The eradication of grime from any home shall do it a favour, and my campaign is not so different. The world must be cleansed, my friends. Will you stand with me?"

Hydrus Malfoy looked at them, a group that could not have been older than eighteen, their heads filled with glorious thoughts of gold and power, wealth beyond their imagination.

_They will fight, and they are skilled warriors, but when the battle seems lost, when we lose a fight, will they go on with us? Or will they break, just as half the Inner Circle once did?_

He thought he knew the answer.

A thumping noise came from the back, as a large-nosed, dark-haired wizard banged his fist against the table. One person joined, then another, until everyone pounded against the table, cheering for their new Lord.

The Dark Lord surveyed them all, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes.

They had another two hundred forces.

"_Soon," _he could almost hear Lord Voldemort whisper, his voice carrying above the roar. "_Soon the world will come crumbling at our knees, my water snake… soon…"_

There were six weeks left before Hogwarts started anew. Hydrus felt his stomach squeeze.

__(O.O)__

There were half a thousand bedrooms in the Black castle, and so they had more than enough room for the one hundred and ninety-four newly graduated witches and wizards. They were settled in as the afternoon went by, to gawk at the great rooms they would each receive.

Breakfast the next morning proved a much louder affair than before. Almost two hundred different people were talking, their voices carrying throughout the Main Hall, echoing in the cavernous space.

Hydrus Malfoy could not sleep very well, and so had been one of the first to walk down the stairs and arrive. He watched as they entered, in pairs or groups, talking, whispering with excitement… and suddenly breaking off mid-chatter when they saw him.

Their stares were iron knives driven into his back, but he continued to eat, in the judging presence of them all.

The ten Death Eaters who had been rescued from Azkaban would not join them for breakfast - neither would Quirinus Quirrell. Hydrus Malfoy would be the sole representative of their cause until the Dark Lord came to explain all that needed to be done.

"I saw you on the stairs yesterday," a girl said, dark blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail. Despite the early hour, she had somehow managed to brush coloured pigment onto the lids of her eyes. "Do you already work for him?"

Her stare was judgemental, and the few people that sat around them turned to stare.

Lord Black swallowed a grin. A year ago, and the thought of talking to anyone older than him would have made him uncomfortable. Now? Not at all. He met the girl's eyes with an unflinching stare. "None of us work for the Dark Lord. We serve."

"And you serve him?" her voice was incredulous. "What are you, twelve?"

"Eleven," Hydrus told her wearily.

Someone tapped the girl on her arm. "_Look at his forehead,"_ he whispered.

Lord black watched as her eyes climbed his face, only to stop just above his right eye. His hair was messier than usual, flowing in ragged waves that covered the ever-so-famous scar with ease.

Something seemed to click in her head. "You're…"

"I was given that name at birth, yes. My true name is Hydrus Malfoy, and nothing else."

Her cheeks flushed. "R-r-ight… I…"

"It happens," Hydrus told her, uncomfortably aware of all the stares that suddenly wove their way up to his face. "There is nothing to forgive."

A black-haired, sharp-nosed boy spoke to him. "If I may ask… who is this… Dark Lord?"

Hydrus Malfoy looked at him. "There has only been one true Dark Lord. Eleven years past, his mortal body was destroyed, but veritable power cannot be so easily defeated. The true Dark Lord lives on… and he has asked for your service. Will you give him your life?"

The room quieted.

They looked at him with a sort of awe and wonder, a tinge of fear mixed in their gaze. A new sense of respect filled the air.

"Your choice does not have to be made now," came the Dark Lord. He entered the room, a tall grey shadow, black robes writhing behind him like forever undulating snakes. "Though I suppose you have already."

A murmur of assent spread through them.

"Nonetheless, my hospitality is open for you all. Should you wish, the castle is yours to roam. All expenses have been paid and any utilities shall be yours. In return, I ask for two things: Your loyalty; know that I intend to declare when the time comes. Many of you shall perish… perhaps all… but for those that still live at the end of my campaign… a castle just as great as this one shall be granted to you and all those who come after, and more importantly, the gratitude of a king.

"Second is your service as I ask it. You are all talented duelists and rising learners of the Dark Arts. Find work in the Ministry. It does matter what country. So long as they are in Europe, you have my blessing. Learn about the issues that they face, listen in on conversations between Head of Departments and learn any secrets they may keep.

"For every secret I learn, _with proof_, a hundred gold galleons shall be rewarded, and for every day that you work in a Ministry, another five will be given. More riches will come as the war runs on. Know that the pay I give you now is insignificant to what you will receive when the war is won."

The Dark Lord spread his gaze across them all, watching as their faces lit up with greed and pride. Murmurs had begun, as friends and foes alike began trying to convert the number of gold galleons into the currency of their country.

"Should you wish to leave, the door is there." Lord Voldemort swished his wand, and the front doors whistled open. Golden rays of sunlight leaked through as if silently naming whoever dared leave as a coward. "No one? Well then. You have a week to find a job within any Ministry in Europe. Do not return unless the employment you seek has been found. Those who do not report to me within that allotted time frame will no longer be in my service. You have my permission to begin."

It seemed all at once, the one hundred and ninety-four witches and wizards rose from their seats, some bowing to the Dark Lord as they left the room. Some climbed up the stairs, others walked through the door, prepared to search for a job anywhere in the Ministry.

An hour later, every single one of the recruits had left the castle.

Their eyes were glazed, a good sign that the potion was taking effect. Lord Voldemort had Severus Snape brew a couple of dozen cauldron-fulls for all two hundred wizards, a specific never-before concoction of all sorts of rare magical plants and poisons, stewed over half a month, imbued with a list of spells. They had tested the concentration and power of the compound on a handful of muggles, watching as their insides turned to dust. Their screams had lasted for a bare second - the process quick and irreversible. All the better for a painless death.

When consumed, should they betray the integrity of the Dark Lord's cause, their end would be rapid, their organs turned to ashes, incinerated in the fury of disloyalty. Even past death, their throat would still move, the muggles having coughed up the dust and cinders, a swirl of grey-black embers to stain the Victorian rugs.

The house-elves had cleaned the mess, and it was now impossible to see the remains of any of their experiments, but the notion haunted Hydrus Malfoy nonetheless.

"I don't expect any will die for at least a few weeks," Lord Voldemort told him, standing nearby. "It is easy gold and easier work. When the war begins, however… when they see the price we must pay for salvation… some will balk… and the corpses shall cough ashes once more…"

He looked over at Hydrus. "That bothers you, doesn't it? No, we both know the answer. Sometimes death and destruction are the prices we pay for greatness. Not sometimes; always. You are a fast learner, my water snake. In time, you will understand. Go, now. Quirinus is back from his month-long journey to Sweden, and you have much to catch up."

Hydrus Malfoy bowed. "Yes, my Lord."

Quirinus Quirrell waited for him in their usual room, on the fourth floor, overlooking the blooming gardens.

Scrolls had been laid out, mottled quills and a handful of gilded jars of black ink. Candles dripped their yellowish wax into metal dishes, uselessly, for the light that filtered through the large square windows were more than enough to brighten the room, casting a golden glow on all it touched.

"Have you read the passages I assigned?"

"Yes, professor -"

Hydrus Malfoy stopped. It had become a force of habit, but Quirinus Quirrell did not particularly care what he called him. "_I was a professor once, yes. But now I have been dismissed from my duties. If you would like, it is a... suitable name… whatever works…"_

"Then it seems, all that remains to complete your first-year education is to master the list of spells assigned by Bathilda Bagshot."

Life was full of compromises, as Hydrus Malfoy had learned. If he would not return to Hogwarts the following year, then he would learn magic regardless, to be expected to cast non-verbal spells by his thirteenth birthday.

Two hours later, with sweat dripping down Hydrus' forehead, Quirinus Quirrell called an end. "Your knowledge of magic has improved… but your practical abilities… you are a powerful wizard, there is no use in denying as much… your flames…" He frowned. "They have changed colour. I thought I saw it weeks past, in Azkaban… could you… ?"

Hydrus Malfoy clenched his hands and then flexed them, watching as a strange, reddish, brown colour appeared on his palms.

Quirinus Quirrell studied the flames, his swirling seafoam eyes turned the colour of dark carnelians as he stared into the fire. "I don't understand…" He turned his gaze upwards to meet Hydrus'. "What… what has happened?"

Lord Black did not know how to respond. The flames used to turn blue at the base, blue like a clear summer sky… and now… How long had it been since the phenomenon was last seen? He remembered Azkaban… the ghastly pain that threaded through his fingers… and before that… and before that as well… as he tumbled through the floor in the castle, as he landed on a bale of hay…

"When I fell… through the floor… into the passageway…"

"Smoke inhalation… how long has it been since then? Six weeks, two months… no… longer I believe." Quirinus Quirrell stood up at last. "The libraries are an intricate maze of works. With your permission…"

_I owe you my life for saving Hermione_, Hydrus wanted to tell him. "Of course," he said instead. "The castle is yours to walk."

Long months ago, the Dark Lord had granted Quirinus Quirrell the freedom of the castle, but now, it felt official. Lord Black shook his palms free of the flames but did not dare clasp the man's hands. Not until they cooled down from the residual heat of the fire.

Once, he had made that mistake and watched as a quill seemed to wilt as it liquified into a slimy white thing.

Feathers were much more expendable than hands and Hydrus Malfoy was already in the man's debt… so very deep…

"Thank you," he told Quirinus Quirrell instead.

He gave a mocking bow. "I live to serve."

_Yes, but who?_

__(O.O)__

On the first day, a dozen of the recruits returned to the castle, each in turn bowing low before the Dark Lord's feet, before handing to him a scroll of yellowed parchment, wads of wax stamped in all sorts of colours with the various insignia of each Ministry.

Each time, he would meet their eyes and comb through their thoughts, before giving a brusque nod and accepting the young witch or wizard into his service.

By the end of seven days, one hundred and seventy-four had returned, each a new spy for the Dark Lord.

They were tested, ranked by their dexterity, their wit, their intelligence, their knowledge of the Dark Arts… one by one, to go through the scrutiny of Lord Voldemort, to determine which of the one hundred and seventy-four was the most well-rounded.

Scores were compared, opinions added… the disdain of the members of the Inner Circle as evident as could be. They did not dare voice their complaints before the Dark Lord, but their every action… when they looked upon the young adults, their eyebrows would pinch together, their lips pursed, a delicate frown to mar their faces.

"They are here to help us in our efforts," Lord Voldemort told them, and nothing more.

Most took it as an insult, to think that their service had not been of enough value, and yet, Hydrus… Hydrus understood in a way, what the Dark Lord meant to do.

"_The young can be groomed…"_

In thirty years many of the Inner Circle would have retired, but of the recruits - they would be fit and hale, the perfect age to take leading spots in Lord Voldemort's new world.

With their loyalty bought a thousand times over in gold galleons… his empire would never end.

His Inner Circle would not understand, but it was a gamble the Dark Lord took, and it seemed, for now, the gamble would pay off. Dinner was to be held in the great castle tonight, for the very first time, where all the Death Eaters and all the recruits would sit around a large wooden table, to share meat and mead, to break bread with one another, marking their collective alliance.

One hundred and fifty young witches and wizards sat in the Main Hall around a rectangular table, larger than the one at breakfast, just big enough to seat exactly two hundred individuals. Golden plates were laid out, silver forks and knives, a square of the softest silk cloth to be placed on the lap, and tallow candles to light the room.

Hydrus looked at the flames and winced.

The Mongrel stared at the fire, entranced in their foreign dance. They dripped hot wax into their tray, and Lord Black prayed he would not touch it. The Dark Lord had been furious when he learned of what the mutt had done, torturing him with the Cruciatus Curse in what was the most disturbing two hours Hydrus Malfoy had ever witnessed. Perhaps it was the knowledge that it was him who had brought this fate, and no else that made it so much worse.

Lord Voldemort had commanded that Severus Snape chop his fingers off with a cleaver, ordering him to use no sedative when he stitched the wound.

Tonight, the Mongrel wore cotton-stuffed black gloves to replace the digits that he had lost.

One by one, the Death Eaters came and sat down, joined at last by the Dark Lord.

His robes were splendid and the colour of nightmares, darker than black, shimmering like liquid silver, draped across his frame like a thousand snakes.

"We are family," Lord Voldemort began. "We are kin. We are the tightest family that may be found and the greatest. Our lives depend on each other and it is this sort of companionship that will bring the world to our knees. A toast, to our future."

They raised their glasses, and as if by invisible signal, they were filled with mulled wine. Their silver goblets made a twinkling sound when clinked against each other.

Hydrus took a tentative sip because it was expected of him, but the taste made him want to retch. He avoided alcohol in all forms, from drinks to cooking, for the taste… the taste reminded him of the gala… Cornelius Fudge's birthday celebration… the sour but rich tang of the pink-orange raspberry drink, the other one… a dark purple… grapes that time… not as good as the sunset drink… he could still feel the blood on his hands, slithering down his wrist in thin, red worms.

He took one swallow, and that was enough to drain the glass.

Lord Black had ordered that the house-elves only give him a mouthful - and half that for Rabastan.

He glanced across the table and saw him, picking moodily at the engravings etched upon the silver goblet, most assuredly wishing he had more wine, and something more powerful. A sixteenth-century goblin-made chalice, to be fingered by a hapless drunk.

_Oh, the irony of life._

"Drink deep, my friends," Lord Voldemort told them all. "This is fine wine; with the riches of my conquest, you shall be able to buy all that there is in the world."

The dishes came and went; baskets of bread and plates of roast beef, asparagus wrapped in bacon, fruity tarts, shortcake, caramel apples… dish after dish, until the hours crawled by, and goblets were refilled. No one dared have too much - to be drunk in front of the Dark Lord…

Nonetheless, they were an impulsive bunch, and so daring conversations broke out across the table. The same golden-haired blue-eyed boy as the last time found his way to Lord Voldemort's right-hand side in between speeches the Dark Lord's many speeches about unity.

He had a sharp nose and a regal face, and in many ways reminded Hydrus of his dear estranged brother. When he spoke it was in the archaic language of purebloods, layered thick with courtesy and words one would only find while reading a particularly thick thesaurus. "It is a most wonderful honour to be invited into your mighty castle," he told Lord Voldemort. "And I am beyond honoured to meet you, my Lord. Your talent with magic and skill in battle is a tale told to every young child in my country. You -"

Hydrus swallowed a look of disgust and turned his gaze across the room.

The ten ex-inmates were handling themselves surprisingly well, the Mongrel clutching a fork awkwardly in his left hand, drinking from a silver goblet in the right. He would spill a little on his robes with every sip, and his eyes were glued to the golden flames of the candles, but at least he did not dare swipe his fingers through them. Down the table were the two Lestrange brothers, Rodolphus sending baleful glances to the very front of the table, where his wife sat next to Lord Voldemort, and Rabastan picking at the filet mignon. He had trimmed the crust off until only mangled pinkish meat remained.

The voices were growing louder by the hour, and when it reached the highest, Quirinus Quirrell turned to him. "Your flames grow darker with your nature."

Hydrus turned his head to him. With all the sounds in the room, he thought he hadn't heard the man correctly. "Pardon?"

"Magic follows a person's emotional progression. I had thought perhaps it would be different… for most, spells become easier to cast as they mature… for you… your flames are not spells… they are not wandless magic either… something different…"

Lord Black turned to look at his palms. They were smooth and pale, as common and benign as hands could be. He had always thought the flames were from the red eyes… but he had stopped seeing them for a long time now, and still, the fire persisted.

"Perhaps I am wrong," Quirinus Quirrell said, in a tone that suggested he knew exactly what he spoke of, "but they will continue to get darker, and so will your nature."

Hydrus flexed his palms and watched as the dark red flames sputtered to life. They were so very weak, so very cold… he remembered the time when his fires could heat a dragon egg and could rival a forge. Now… life's ironies had acted upon them…

"Will it ever stop?"

"Getting darker?" Quirinus Quirrell stroked his chin. He lifted his eyes to the Dark Lord, watching as he spoke with the same gold-haired boy as before. "Not soon."

He clenched his fists and watched as the fire disappeared. "How dark can fire go?"

"Yours is already beyond the colour of weak embers… with time… perhaps to black…"

A lump formed in his throat. "Will it still be hot?"

"Only time will tell."

Hydrus did not understand why he felt so suddenly sad.

_Your flames have given you naught but grief in this world… Why do you lament their loss so greatly?_

His thoughts were interrupted when the Dark Lord stood up, and the room quickly quieted. Outside, the windows showed a dark world, where a tiny sliver of a moon was all that remained to brighten the green grass.

"We are gathered here today to celebrate the induction of our newest one hundred and seventy-four additions to our cause. They are loyal members and will continue to serve faithfully until their death. The coming months will be difficult, I have no doubt, but our cause is strong, and so long as we are united in our collective goal, we will power through. A round of applause for our new friends."

Hydrus put his hands together and watched as Lucius made a pinched expression for the barest of moments, and then, when his wife gave him a look, he reluctantly began clapping.

If the Dark Lord took notice, he gave no sign. "Our conquest will lead far into Europe, and further into the world. But first, Great Britain has been heralded not for the first time as the epicentre of Wizarding activity. When the country falls, the rest will be quick to follow. You all are a student of history… does anyone know where the true pro-muggle movement stems from?"

"_Albus Dumbledore,_" cried someone who must have had a little too much wine.

Voices murmured their agreement.

Hydrus Malfoy looked across the room and found Severus Snape, his pale face filled with the same apathy as Quirinus Quirrell's. Both would have deduced where the Dark Lord meant to strike ages past.

_And so have I._

The Dark Lord gave a lipless smile. "Does anyone know where this Albus Dumbledore will be, come the fall?"

"_HOGWARTS,"_ someone roared.

His voice echoed throughout the room, ringing like a thousand brass bells.

_Hogwarts, _it cried. _Hogwarts… Hogwarts… Hogwarts…_

Lord Voldemort spread his gaze across the table. "Yes. Hogwarts."

* * *

**A/N:**

**Dun dun dun dun...**

**Interesting stuff. This chapter was originally like twenty pages long but then I realised a lot of if was entirely unnecessary so I chopped it in half and here we are. Well next week will be interesting. Not saying what will happen but I think you guys have already guessed so.**

**To any of you guys wondering why Lord Voldemort wouldn't want to just kill Neville Longbottom by himself, it's 'cause he's learned from his past mistakes and is still pretty new to his body and definitely does not want to lose it in some 'love shield' protection thing once more. Just in case.**

**Special thanks to jh831 and KingZeRopL for taking the time to review my story!**

**To jh831 - you wrote a review for Chapter 2 so if you ever get this far into my fanfic, just know that I pretty much wrote the first ten-fifteen chapters with absolutely no idea of what I was doing. Yep, I'm very much aware of the sheer number of plot holes in the story and some very interesting inconsistencies and inexplicable character actions... but here we are and I assure you that I have been taking the time to at least think about what I want to happen next chapter and the one after. One day, when this is all over, I will definitely be taking the time to do a massive rewrite of the entire thing and will definitely take your suggestion into consideration.**

**To KingZeRopL, well I'm definitely glad you approved of the giant three-page long word blurb that came from Voldemort. As to whether or not he was lying... I can't say. While writing this fanfic, I wanted to rationalize Voldemort a bit, but, ah, I think you've definitely got a point when you say that he's acting a bit too sane. The guy in the story was a bit... dull, in my opinion. Very much like the stereotypical "oh I wanna kill everyone" kind of bad guy, which is cool and all, but a bit boring. I wanted Voldemort to be like an actual three-dimensional character (not so sure how that's working out), and if that means he'll have to be sane... well here we are... But huge thanks nonetheless for pointing that out.**

**As always, thanks for reading everybody and I hope to see you all next week!**

**Cheers**


	28. Chapter 28

The night sky was dark like black ink, speckled with silver stars. They glowed in the far distance, like a thousand grains of sand on a beach. Closer, were the grey shrouds, floating with the wind, sucking all life and joy from the world.

Hydrus watched it carefully, through the window of the Shrieking Shack.

To get into Hogwarts, he would need to go under the passageway… close enough to the Dementors that he would feel their nasty effects… He shifted with worry and felt the silver-gold knife jab into his side. Within half an hour it would be red with blood. It would be his what - fifth life? Sixth? Did it matter anymore?

Hydrus supposed it did not.

_And that's why your flames turn darker and darker._

He did his best to ignore the thought, and instead, turn his attention to the people inside the roughed-up living room. Throughout, a deathly silence lingered, as fifty of the one hundred and seventy-four recruits - the Inner Circle had begun referring to them as 'Neonates' behind their back - polished their wands, brushed invisible lint off their robes and tried to look dignified in the face of fear.

They were instructed to hold the Common Rooms against any professor who might try to thwart them. A simple task -

_But daunting enough still._

Members of the Order of Phoenix would be patrolling the halls, for as stupid and blundering as Albus Dumbledore was, he still held to some sort of precaution. It would be another, twenty to thirty wands against them, but nothing compared to the force of some seventy wizards who would defeat them all.

On their faces were bronze masks - not the silver-gold that the Death Eaters wore - with holes for eyes, and scalish carvings on the cheeks. When they pulled their black hoods low over their faces, it was impossible to tell if they were Neonates or members of the Inner Circle.

They were twenty-five of the best duelists and another twenty-five of the worst; one was to be a meat shield for the other. A barbaric way to fight, but most likely, none would be killed.

_Today, at least._

_And what about tomorrow, when the Dark Mark will float in the sky, and Lord Voldemort's return will be announced to the world? To that, I cannot say._

Hydrus Malfoy looked around the room

The first signal went off: a tiny ringing that buzzed in his watch. Half-past one. Heads turned to look at him as Lord Black stood up from his perch by the window, his fingers fumbling when they pulled the Invisibility Cloak over his head. Someone wished him good fortune in a throaty German accent, but to Hydrus Malfoy, it sounded naught more than a whisper of the wind. He gave an absent-minded nod, unseeable under his Cloak.

The passageway was dark, his feeble reddish-brown flames giving meagre light, turning the packed dirt a dark copper. A crossbow was strung over his shoulder, complete with five quarrels, and for all its usefulness, his wand lay in the inner pocket of his robes.

He felt the sorrow as he walked on; the faraway scream of Hermione's cry, and the distant, ghostly pain in his palms. It was better than the time at Azkaban. He powered on.

Hydrus Malfoy appeared just beside the trunk of the enormous tree, ducking as a branch suddenly darted towards him. The students of Hogwarts used to dare one another, trying to see who could go the furthest without breaking a single bone.

Wormtail had told the Dark Lord who told him to aim for the knot in the trunk; a bulbous collection of bark that jutted outward like an ugly kneecap.

Hydrus spotted it immediately and readied his crossbow, pulling back the string, placing the only blunted quarrel into the slot. If he missed the shot - unlikely as it was - the Whomping Willow would be a fiery spotlight tonight, and any stealth the Death Eaters might have planned would be wasted.

The night was dark, and the moon a tiny silver crescent, but there was no wind, and when he let the heavy arrow fly, it thwacked onto the trunk, the crossbow making naught but a tiny _chink_. It lodged itself into the knot, and almost immediately, the large tree turned to glass, frozen in time.

The quarrel had lodged itself firmly into the Whomping Willow, and when Hydrus tried to pull it out, the very tip, coated in steel, snapped off.

Giving a dejected sigh, he let it fall to the ground, readjusted his Cloak and continued to the castle.

Hogwarts was quiet; an eerie stillness enveloping its quarters with a thick, invisible mist. Lanterns glowed along the edge of some of the walls, and Hydrus clambered through the open window of an abandoned classroom.

Wormtail, that lecherous bastard, had told him of all recent activities in the castle. Filch was being a stickler for cleanliness, now more so than ever, and was taking a prominent role in castle security. Nonetheless, Peter Pettigrew had managed to open the windows in one of the rooms.

He brushed the dirt off his robes, cringing as the sound of his rattling quarrels echoed throughout the castle.

Did the Headmaster know about tonight?

That was a stupid question - of course, he did.

And the only reason why he wasn't waiting for him in the abandoned classroom, sitting on an old desk, his arms crossed, a benign twinkle to his eyes was because the other Death Eaters were pooling in through Hogsmeade, waiting for the signal Lord Black would cast.

The hallways were empty during the late hour, and far away, he could hear the voices of prefects, speaking in hushed voices as they patrolled the corridor. Members of the Order of the Squawking Bird and perhaps some Aurors would be here as well; Hydrus passed a middle-aged woman with a shawl wrapped around her head. She didn't resemble any of the Hogwarts professors.

He was tempted to try his hand at the Stunning Spell - he had been practicing with Quirinus Quirrell - if only to mildly disorientate her for the battle to come, but when he reached for his wand, her head turned in his direction, and Hydrus Malfoy felt his heart creep into his throat.

For a long moment, she stared, and then slowly, began walking away.

When she rounded the corner and disappeared from view, Lord Black took a sharpened quarrel and laid it in place, drew back the string, knowing full well that holding it in firing position for too long could mean permanent damage to the accuracy of the arrow. That was alright. With luck, he wouldn't need to shoot a target from more than half a hundred yards away.

Hydrus continued to the second floor and then the third, up and up the stairs until he reached the seventh. On his way, he met some prefects, Professor Hooch and what must have been either an Auror or a member of the Squawking Bird. None of them noticed him, and so, Lord Black didn't need to shoot either of them. He thanked Merlin for that.

The entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room was the portrait of a pig-woman, draped in pearl white silks. She snored loudly, covering any of the sounds Hydrus might have made.

Wormtail had spied on the students, learning the password for the next fortnight.

"_Brave as lions,_" Hydrus Malfoy whispered.

"You and your prefect duties," the pig-woman mumbled. She swung open.

Lord Black adjusted his grip on the crossbow, ensuring that the tip was pointing forward before he climbed through the portrait hole. It was so very late at night, and he was almost sure there would be no one sitting by the Common Room fire, doing last-minute homework… but if even the tiniest shriek came from anyone, he would be done for.

"Allanis," someone said as he stepped through. Hydrus felt his heart sink. "You're back early from prefect duties."

His heart was beating erratically, pumping, pumping… threatening to overflow with blood. Lord Black took a hasty look around the room and found only one girl. She couldn't have looked a day over sixteen.

His hands were shaking, but she had seen the portrait door open… his vision was beginning to blur with tears, threatening to stream down his face…

_That can't happen, _Hydrus told himself over and over. _You can't aim if you can't see._

He blinked them away hastily, and as the girl got up from her seat, he let the quarrel fly. The distance couldn't have been more than a dozen yards.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

It struck the left side of her chest, killing the poor girl immediately.

In the dark, he could see the fine spray of blood, a brownish colour in the poor lighting. She collapsed almost instantly, flailing onto the carpet with a soft thud. Hydrus Malfoy looked at her, not quite feeling anything.

The girl died with her mouth hanging open, her clear blue eyes glazed and lifeless, her blonde hair already beginning to turn red with blood. The smell of feces hit him not too long after.

He slung the crossbow over his shoulder, adjusted his Cloak for the hundredth time and side-stepped the body.

The second-year boys' dormitory was to the left, on the second floor. With a strange calmness to him, Hydrus Malfoy walked up the stairs and opened the door to Neville Longbottom's sleeping quarters.

There were four boys, all snoring loudly.

A window let the barest amount of silver moonlight filter through, and Lord Black knew immediately which one was Neville Longbottom.

He lay slumbering in the last bed, breathing with loud, snorting breaths. His face was a pale and pasty white, pudgy sausage-like fingers clutching a fuzzy brown teddy bear. It was easy sneaking to his bed.

He brushed aside the curtain, lowering himself onto the bed with care. Slowly, he drew the silver-gold knife. For a moment, Neville Longbottom stirred. He blinked open his eyes lazily, and for a moment, his mouth opened, just as the girl's had, to utter a scream -

Hydrus clamped his hand down onto his mouth.

"_Born as the seventh month dies,_" he whispered, forcing himself to stare into the boy's terrified eyes. "It had to be you."

Lord Black sliced the knife across his throat.

Neville Longbottom choked on his own blood, making a strange gagging noise as a torrent of fine red liquid sprayed across Hydrus Malfoy's robes. It was a sort of shock that filled him. Once more, his Invisibility Cloak was stained with dark crimson, drenched in blood and urine as he stood up from the bed.

Someone was stirring. "Was' happening?" Seamus Finnegan asked, his eyes struggling to open. "It smells like dung."

The window was right there… there was no need for any of them to lose their lives…

Lord Black rammed the back of his knife against the glass, watching as it shattered into a million pieces. That woke everyone up immediately.

"_Bloody hell_," Ron Weasley cried.

Their voices mingled, screaming as they saw what became of their classmate.

Hydrus Malfoy did his best to stop his racing heart. He looked out the window, far away, to where Hogsmeade would have been, and raised his wand. Quirinus Quirrell and he had spent long hours trying to master the spell.

Lord Black took a deep breath. "_MORSMORDRE_," he roared.

For a moment, the three boys stopped their panicked cries. They turned to stare at where Hydrus Malfoy stood, disbelieving, uncomprehending looks writ upon their faces.

Green light lit the room with a fluorescent glow as not too far away, a smoky skull-and-snake danced atop the clouds.

Lord Black dived through the window, feeling the wind whip his silvery Cloak into a frenzy.

The Second Wizarding War had just begun.

__(O.O)__

Wormtail waited at the bottom of Gryffindor tower, his rat-like features hidden by a silver-gold mask. He swished his wand, and Hydrus Malfoy rolled onto a bouncy surface. Getting to his feet quickly, he adjusted his crossbow, shifted his Cloak and whispered into the night. "Thank you."

Peter Pettigrew gave no response. He was a rat once more, his squirmy grey body already filching through the tall grass, disappearing quickly from view. It wasn't him who had died that day, so many months ago. An imposter, just as Hydrus Malfoy suspected. Even in the darkness, his bright red bands glowed on his thin wrists.

Lord Black watched him disappear, gave a final sigh, before he looked up above him, at the snake-and-skull that had appeared in the sky. It was a cloud of grey smoke, forever shifting, the mighty serpent crawling through the eye socket of the skull, and then the mouth, slithering in one hole, out another, snapping its ferocious jaws at an invisible prey. The world turned lime-coloured in its wake, bowing down before its new master.

There would be Aurors called… assuming Cornelius Fudge would be willing to believe the Headmaster… _hopefully, he does not._

Members of the Order would also be there, who would be caught in the thick of the fighting - but those who were alone… unaware… the Dark Lord had ordered he do it...

_To save my brother, to save sweet Daphne, to save Hermione… _

The first screams pierced the night, the sharp whistle of a quarrel streaming through the air.

Hydrus Malfoy took a deep breath. "The price for salvation is often death," he whispered.

__(O.O)__

The first one was a woman, middle-aged, with fine sharp cheekbones, though Lord Black only saw her from behind. She ran down the hallway, a determined, fierce look to her gait.

Hidden in an abandoned classroom, crouched on one knee, crossbow poised delicately on the crook of his right arm, Hydrus Malfoy waited as she hurried through the empty corridors.

Her footfalls were getting louder… louder and louder, until he could hear her every breath, as distinct as the cry of birds.

_Three… _

_Two… _

_One._

_The price of salvation is often death._

He exhaled and watched the quarrel pierce her stomach. His hands had been shaking; slick with sweat, making him aim much lower than he intended. If he hadn't been only six feet away, the quarrel might have missed her entirely.

It should have hit her shoulder, the sheer force and weight of the heavy arrow enough to drive the sharpened tip to her neck, snapping the intricate network of nerves keeping her alive. An instant death. A quick one. Merciful.

Instead…

The witch collapsed onto the floor, clutching at her left side with a feeble hand… Hydrus had once stabbed Belvina Black there too… he tried not to think of her.

She was paling - it was easy to see, even in the dim moonlight. Her hand tried to stem the flow of blood, and the other was casting lightning-fast spells, but more of the crimson liquid seeped through, flowing in pulses.

Hydrus Malfoy waded through her pool of blood, his Cloak left in the classroom. He would not need it. There was already enough blood on the silvery fabric.

His hand was steady, a quick sweep across her throat.

In her very last moments, the woman recognized his face. Her eyes went wide, and her lips formed two words. "_Hydrus Malfoy…"_

He felt nothing but a gaping pit of apathy as he knelt to wipe his knife clean on her robes, sheathing it back in its leather scabbard. Two quarrels were remaining; another two lives he could steal.

Anything to help Draco, sweet Daphne or Hermione live.

Every life could be another to turn the war. The Dark Lord did not want the Ministry to hear a word of his numbers, and so had brought the bare minimum to ensure victory.

_Wars are turbulent, _Hydrus Malfoy thought. _Ever-changing, the tides forever moving. If studying history with Nancel Fenwick has taught me anything, it is thus._

He left his Cloak on the floor. Stained with blood and urine, it would do him no good anymore. Later, if they won, he could go collect it.

Lord Black stood up and began to make his way down the hallway.

There would be more victims. Another life, to pay for salvation.

__(O.O)__

The castle was alive with the sound of screams, as all sorts of virulent spells were flung into the air, glowing all colours of the rainbow. Lord Black walked past the flashes of light, his robes swirling as he moved. Where he could, the knife was driven into sides and backs, lathered across the backs of knees, driven into shoulders. When he got sick of seeing his robes stained with blood, seeing the torrent of dark liquid spurt from their bodies, Hydrus resorted to torching them. It was almost pathetic how unaware people could be when fighting.

Lives dropped to the floor, turned to nothing as the fights went on.

_I should have brought more quarrels, _Hydrus found himself thinking as he lit his hands and shoved them against the dark blue robes of a witch. It caught like kindling, and as she burned, she screamed so loud it might have been possible to hear the woman from the other side of the castle.

He stepped back to give the body room to collapse, watching it jerk and shake as the last of her life left the world.

Only one Neonate remained of the pair who duelled the witch. His or her companion lay on the floor, his insides a bubbling mess of tissue and blood, pooling outward with every passing second.

"There will be more to come," he told them, his voice unusually commanding. "Go."

The Neonate towered over him, almost twice his age, yet the wizard went regardless, running down the hallway.

On and on, Hydrus Malfoy went, until his footsteps led him past small skirmishes, torching all opposition he could find, not bothering to hide his enflamed hands any longer. He was a god - a god of fire that needed no mask to hide who he truly was.

Witches and wizards alike were running, screaming… crying for mercy… but the Death Eaters outnumbered those in Hogwarts two to one, and within half an hour, Quirinus Quirrell was at his side once more. He walked with a slight limp, and there was a bruise beginning to form on his right cheek, but otherwise, the man looked fit and hale.

"Where is your Cloak?"

Lord Black shrugged, feeling a strange apathy as he stepped over the corpse of a burning man. "Somewhere."

They were silent for a moment, listening to faraway sounds before Quirinus Quirrell spoke once more. "Albus Dumbledore has led the few surviving professors and members of the Order to the Great Hall. They are holding it for the moment. Not for very long; the school will fall soon enough."

"And the Dark Lord?"

"He has sent me to fetch you. Lord Voldemort awaits your presence on the rooftops of Hogwarts… but first…"

He led him to the Potion's classroom, and then to the back where he filched through Severus Snape's potions. His fingers closed around a glass vial containing a bubbling muddy brown liquid.

"Is that -?"

"Polyjuice," Quirinus Quirrell told him, putting it away in one of the inner pockets of his robes. "Come, he waits for us."

The Dark Lord studied the black stones, kneeling upon the flat surface, stroking his chin. There was no one else around him. When Hydrus Malfoy arrived, he looked up. "There are five professors and the Headmaster in there. Sorcery envelops the hall… can you feel it? It is thick like blood… breakable with time… he hopes to keep us occupied, I have no doubt, awaiting the arrival of the Ministry… Cornelius Fudge is a fool… but Amelia Bones will have advised him to send out scouts. When no one comes to receive them at the gates of Hogwarts… they will return for more. The Dementors will take care of the first few, but a collective… wretched Patronus Charms… No, we must finish this soon. Did you bring the potion, Quirinus?"

Lord Voldemort took a strand of hair and dropped it into the muddy liquid. It turned to the colour of copper. "We outnumber him four to one. All we require is a chink in his infallible armour… this is the hair of some fifth-year prefect. They're all dead, unfortunately. Polyjuice is the way to go… .You can guess what must be done, can you? When you arrive, it will be important that you find a shelter of some sort. Demolition is a bloody business, but Quirinus has been assigned to ensure that no rubble shall cave in your skull. How long do you think it will take you to reach the Great Hall? Five minutes? Longer?"

Hydrus Malfoy took off his crossbow and handed it to Quirinus Quirrell. "Less."

He downed the potion in a swallow. The taste was of butterbeer, the thick tangy feeling of alcohol. He felt his stomach knot.

A strange tugging sensation began in his bowels. The world seemed to shrink as he grew over a foot taller, his arms and legs stretching like taffy. His robes were too tight for him, constricting his thick frame. When he spoke, it was in a deep voice. "Take good care of the crossbow."

He bowed to the Dark Lord. "My Lord."

And then Hydrus Malfoy was off.

His feet led him down staircases, through hallways strewn with corpses, past obliterated statues and a Neonate, trying desperately to hold in his innards as he bled to death. Hydrus forced his gaze away.

_There is nothing I can do for him._

He met no Death Eaters, perhaps already in position, waiting for the Dark Lord's signal.

The doors to the Great Hall were elaborately carved wood, elegant as could be, swirls of magic and power coming from within. They graced his arms and legs, touching him, trying to see who he was.

"_Headmaster,_" he roared, in the desperate voice of a fifteen-year-old boy. "_HELP."_

When no response came, Hydrus Malfoy banged his fists against the thick wooden doors and mustered another shriek. His knuckles ached, and a trail of blood was leaking down one of his fingers. "_They're coming. The one with golden masks. Help, sir. HELP."_

_He'll come, _Lord Black thought. _That noble Gryffindor courage and nobility will trump any logical reasoning from his staff._

Just as the Dark Lord predicted, the door cracked open. A blue eye, as blue and watery as a summer sky appeared, hidden behind half-moon spectacles. "Come quick, Reginald."

Albus Dumbledore's hands were soft and gentle as they graced the small of his back, leading him inside. It was dark; a room barely lit by a handful of candles. For a moment, there was naught but the quiet of the Great Hall, a silent, mournful sound that shrouded the five remaining professors. And then, there was a _bang_.

The ceiling caved in, and the walls were turned to rubble as all around them, Death Eaters in silver-gold masks ploughed into their stronghold. They were here - the gods of death were with them tonight - draped in silky black cloaks, a maddening delirium to their every action.

Hydrus ducked as a large chunk of stone arched towards him, carving a path of destruction in its wake. When he looked up, it was possible to see the night sky, twinkling with stars, already a shade lighter than before, partially obscured by the dust. The moon was a silver crescent, filling the rubble-strewn room with a soft glow.

Chaos began, as the members of the Inner Circle rounded on them.

The professors, for all their intents, were just as noble as the Headmaster. Hydrus recognized McGonagall in their midsts, her tartan slashed to pieces. She flicked her wrist with incredible speed, but four Death Eaters rounded on her, and the witch could only do so much. She fell, her head splitting in two as she was shoved back violently by a blue-coloured spell.

Eighty-years old, her blood ran cold on the stones of Hogwarts, only a dozen feet from where Hydrus Malfoy stood.

There was Flitwick as well, and Hooch and Pomfrey and what he assumed to be Burbage, the muggle-studies professor. They fought until their very last breath, for however little it was. In the darkness of night, their every spell was as bright as an inferno, lighting the world a new colour.

Albus Dumbledore was a great force of magic, and it took five members of the Inner Circle before he was blasted unconscious, but the rest of the professors fell quickly, dropping to the floor like flies.

Lord Voldemort surveyed the darkness of the room and brushed the dust off of Hydrus Malfoy robes. "Easily done. The Headmaster, for all his glory, used to prattle on about the great blessing to wizardkind: the ability to love. He would spout to anyone, about the courageous testament of that virulent emotion, claiming it would be my downfall. Look where we are now. If he had not loved his students so very dearly, then perhaps he would still be alive. Take a seat at the High Table, my water snake. Know that there is worse to come."

__(O.O)__

Throughout Hogwarts, their screams reverberated, sounding over and over again, rings of brass bells clanging as one, heralding the arrival of their Lord.

Eight hundred students were rounded up with ease, guided to the Great Hall by the fifty Neonates, their bronze masks twinkling in the candlelight like molten gold.

_Soon enough, Lord Voldemort will give them the true silver-gold mask._

Hydrus Malfoy took his spot where he always did; on the left-hand side of the Dark Lord, seated at the staff table, a clear view of all who was there. Part of it had been destroyed from the falling rubble, but with the flick of Quirinus Quirrell's wand, it reassembled itself.

The effects of the Polyjuice Potion were beginning to fade; his robes loosening their hold on him until it felt as normal and as unconstricting as could be.

The Mongrel was nude once more, his icy pale skin shimmering like glass as he hung the corpses on the wall, hammering McGonagall's arms and legs to the tapestries, pounding rusted nails into Flitwick's skull. He was so short, only three and a half feet tall. In death, his body seemed to shrivel in on itself, until he could not have been more than a fetus, dried to death.

The eight hundred students were kept in the back amidst the thick piles of rubble, grim, defeated looks to their faces. Many of the younger ones cried, their tears running pale streaks down their dirt-strewn faces. They were quickly hushed by their older companions, but only after Bellatrix Lestrange threatened to flay them alive.

From the destroyed ceiling, Albus Dumbledore hung like a rag doll, his head lifeless as it bounced against his chest, his half-moon spectacles a pile of shattered glass and bronze wire on the floor. His periwinkle robes were soiled and stained, ripped in some places, red with blood in others. An intricate network of ropes kept the old man suspended in the air, waving and wobbling from time to time, but never falling.

Hydrus knew the coils of string were for nothing but show. Magic held him up, a magic so strong even the seventh years and all their sweat-filled attempts would not be able to make him budge.

One had tried when he saw the Headmaster, and paid dearly for it.

His corpse had been hammered to the wall as well, his head lolling to the side, almost touching the leftmost bit of McGonagall's skull. The blood was beginning to dry.

Some part of him - a strange, apathetic part of his being - had become… had become accustomed to the blood and bodies. This was not the first time the Dark Lord had strung corpses onto the walls, slashing their skin until all sorts of curses were written on their pale bodies, but never before had Hydrus Malfoy seen so many hateful looks in his direction.

The second years were the worst of all - they had once been his classmates. Once, a lifetime ago, he might have helped Hannah Abbott with Transfiguration or walked with Daphne Greengrass along the Great Lake, or perhaps traded japes with Draco Malfoy in between classes, yet now each and every one of them looked at him as if he were some sort of twisted monster.

_I suppose I always have been_.

The stares made him feel ashamed regardless, and a part of him, the young, innocent child, begged him to stop, to leave, to take all those he loved and run far away where no muggles, no Dark Lords, no wizards could ever hurt him. That would never come true, and so he told the mewling child to shut up.

The Dark Lord stood up, and the room went deathly silent. Any first-year who might have emitted muffled sobs stopped crying entirely, their eyes unbelieving. "Albus Dumbledore still lives," Lord Voldemort announced, his voice booming across the room. "And he will continue to do so, so long as you cooperate. I am not an evil man, nor do I wish you harm. So long as you do as I command, your dear Headmaster will live."

The Death Eaters sat at his side, motionless, their silver-gold masks as beautiful as could be.

Lord Voldemort continued. "The first thing I ask from you all is to identify the mudbloods in your midst. Go on, quickly. I am not a patient man." It was strange just how very brave they could be. A student made to point at another, but someone shoved down his hand, and no one else dared. "Those who do so will have my favour and gratitude, which of course, may prove to be a useful thing when I am your captor."

An elder student, with a silver-green snake embroidered on their robes, stepped forward. Someone tried to stop him, but he sneered and knelt before the Dark Lord. "Margaret, Farrell, Gabath, Vylarr and Jennyfer are all the mudbloods in the seventh year, sir."

_Idiot_, Hydrus Malfoy wanted to scream. _He is a Lord._

Lord Voldemort looked down at him, his red eyes aswirl. "And who are you?"

"Oliver Mundleton, sir."

"My Lord," the Dark Lord corrected, not unkindly. "Rise, Oliver. Know that my gratitude rests in your actions. A chamber shall be provided, and anything you may require will be delivered upon your request. Return, and know that your words have saved you."

With the reception Oliver Mundleton received, more and more stepped forward, until a complete list of all the muggle-borns had been made.

It was all for show, Hydrus Malfoy knew. Lucius Malfoy had a list of all the students and all their blood-statuses, as befit a member of the Board of Governors. The Dark Lord needed to keep the Death Eaters happy, and so one by one, the muggle-borns were pushed forward.

"Bella," Lord Voldemort said, his voice barely above a murmur. "You know what must be done."

_The price of salvation is often death._

One by one, all of the muggle-borns were slaughtered.

The floor ran red with blood, the room shaking with the sounds of their pleas… asking them to stop… to help them… the professors… their mummies… their daddies… but only the knife came, slicing their necks as easily as it carved a cake. Bellatrix Lestrange laughed all the while, her dark curls thrown backwards, flipping in the air like springs. She had long ago ditched her mask, the maniacal grin upon her face growing wider and wider with every neck she snapped, every arm she cut and every eye she gouged.

Some could not have been older than Hydrus Malfoy, eleven or twelve like him. His birthday had come and gone weeks past, with no acknowledgement but a cupcake from Quirinus Quirrell. Did his age matter anymore? It seemed like nothing more than a number, another vague, meaningless thing that went on as time passed.

_I don't feel twelve,_ he thought, watching as an eyeball skittered across the floor. A trail of crimson blood followed.

The four House tables, where the students ate their meals became the chopping block, where the Death Eaters wielded all sorts of barbaric tools.

Lord Voldemort watched on, his long, grey fingers clasped together, a look of mild interest upon his face. He turned to face Hydrus Malfoy. "You do not flinch anymore, nor do you recoil as a wounded kitten might have. You are learning, my water snake."

He did not know what to say in return, and so nodded his head and kept his eyes glued to the pool of blood, making its slow way across the floor. He dared not look away, for if he did, he might never look bad.

"Death with a purpose is a glorious one," the Dark Lord told him. "I am glad you have realized so, my water snake."

He took a deep breath and tried to ignore the growing smell of rust and feces. The knives swung, throats were slit, and the corpses began piling up. One after another… until one hundred and eighty-seven bodies were heaped onto the floor, mangled beyond recognition. Girls, who could not have been older than eleven had nails raked across their face until it reached bone; seventeen-year-old wizards who had cried for their mum as Bellatrix Lestrange spilled their sausage-like intestines onto the floor.

The Dark Lord looked at the mound of remains, his dark red eyes emotionless. "Chain the rest."

Bellatrix did so with a maniacal grin, attaching all of them in heavy shackles until they were all chained together.

Hostages had been taken; purebloods of rich and noble families. Any that might have been of questionable loyalty was taken, to be given chambers fit for their status. If their families continued to support the pro-muggle movement, they would be moved to the dungeons, with all the other unimportant students.

Hydrus watched with a numb gaze, as Daphne Greengrass was bound at the wrist, her light blonde hair messy and wilted, her face pale and shaking. Her blue-and-white striped pyjamas were torn in places, a particularly large gash running down the back of her shirt. Nonetheless, her spirit went on. She met the Dark Lord's eyes.

_Fool, _Hydrus Malfoy thought. _Defiance will only lead to death. _

There were more: Hannah Abbott, a cut that ran down her cheek; Ernie Macmillan, his pinched face beginning to bruise. Hydrus Malfoy remembered the childish feud between them and his flames. Now, watching him stumble feebly, a glazed, lost look to his eyes, it was impossible to imagine the pompous grin that was once etched on his lips. He felt no satisfaction in watching him get shackled.

Hostage after hostage it went until all the important sons and daughters of rich families were put away.

"_It is every bit politics as it is bloodshed, my water snake,_" the Dark Lord had told him. "_Why kill more wizards, if they will fall in line so very easily?"_

Those who pledged their loyalty to the cause would live on, only once their food had been poisoned with the complex potion Severus Snape had brewed. If not, more lives were more mouths, and they would be ransomed or butchered - but one.

The lucky lad would be placed under the Imperius Curse, to tell the courageous tale of his escape from within the besieged walls of Hogwarts. He would babble to the Ministry, speaking of a hundred thousand Death Eaters in silver-gold masks, cloaks that rippled in their wake like black ink. He would tell the tale of Lord Voldemort and his mighty return, to describe the fearsome Dark Lord. He would say all he could, to frighten the Ministry into submission… not that it would be very difficult to do so.

Within a day, the lad would die, his food already poisoned with a potion - the same golden one Belvina had drunk, diluted with the same amount of nectar from a bulbous poppingale, to ensure at least twenty-four hours of delay.

The Dark Lord looked at them all. "Show them to their chambers, those who have merited the honour. The rest are to go to the dungeons."

House Black owned a hundred and twenty house-elves, all of which had been working tirelessly to clean the abandoned classrooms, layering them with plush carpets, spraying fine perfumes to cover the smell of mildew. They would bring in beds and feather-stuffed mattresses, silk blankets and pillows trimmed in lace. The rooms of the pureblood hostages would be clean and proper, as befit their rank.

Hydrus Malfoy watched as they were led away by members of the Inner Circle.

Daphne Greengrass met his eyes as she left, a strange sort of fear, swirled with disgust in her gaze.

_Your father loves you, _Hydrus wanted to reassure her. _He will never raise a hand against the Dark Lord._

One by one, they all left, and Lord Voldemort dismissed the Death Eaters. Silence reigned as king in the Great Hall, as Hydrus Malfoy watched Albus Dumbledore's body, hanging limp from the ropes like a wilted plant. Moonlight filtered into the room, painting him with a silvery glow. From afar, he might have even looked like a god - an angel, descending from the sky.

"It has been a most eventful night," the Dark Lord told him. "Get some rest. The Ministry will fall soon enough. You need not worry about them."

Even he left, the doors to the Great Hall clanging shut behind him.

For a long moment, there was not a single sound, but the laboured breaths of Albus Dumbledore, as he hung from the ropes. And then, he spoke. His voice was lathered and exhausted, punctured by deep gasps, but his words were calm and clear. "You… you are the one, Harry Potter. You must defeat the Dark Lord."

Hydrus Malfoy stared at him.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Dun dun dun duuun...**

**I'm thinking of upping (is that even a word?) the rating for this fanfic to 'M' because of how bloody and violent it is. Would that change much? I dunno know.**

**Next chapter will/should introduce the main conflict for Part 2, which will be interesting. (I hope)**

**Special thanks to KingZeRopL for taking the time to review Chapter 27!**

**I'm definitely glad you enjoyed last week's chapter. I can't claim to have any idea of what World of Warcraft is, but... one day I'll give the video game/novel a try and see how it goes. Hydrus Malfoy is a _bit_ young to my liking - not the first time I've said this but, uh, I did not plan this out at all when I first started. If I had... maybe he would have been fifteen or around that age - but I definitely do agree that war and traumatic events in general do tend to make a person mature faster. **

**When i first started writing... oh boy I was in elementary school and absolutely swept up in that Percy Jackson craze. So the first thing I wrote was a PJO fanfic... which was essentially me retelling the story with the exact same plot because I had absolutely no idea of what to do. You can imagine how boring it was. I gave up after pretty much rewriting the first chapter of the Last Olympian. Since then I've thrown that out (thank god) and will never need to face that cringiness anymore. **

**I can't remember how I felt per se, but I knew that I enjoyed it, and so continued to write, at a rate of about one page a day all throughout elementary school. I wrote about... romance mostly, much to my embarrassment. You can imagine how bad they were, considering how clueless any kid will be about romantic relationships. But I went on, and... here we are today.**

**As to how I keep on writing one idea... oh boy... I'm not that great at pacing (you might have noticed) nor at planning (you also might have noticed) and as to how I stick with one idea for so long... actually, this is probably the first time I've gone so far with one idea for a novel/fanfic. Most of the time, I usually give up around 20-30k words. I think having regular readers that check up on this weekly is definitely a motivating factor. Along with that, I've often found that the reason I give up ideas so easily is because the stuff I'm writing... just isn't interesting. The idea and planning might sound super compelling on paper, but putting all of that into words and trying to make one cohesive plot out of it is easier said than done. You end up writing some boring/useless scenes (what happened a lot through Chapter 1-15 for me), which is okay, of course, so long as you keep powering through. But those scenes might destroy any passion you ever had for your idea... and if it ever feels like that, then you might want to ask yourself why it's boring. Is it another idea? Have you been writing for too long? Or is that scene just super slow/useless/boring? I've found that 99% of the time, a scene that you find boring to write will also be boring for you audience to read. **

**If you ever get a better idea - that's alright. Write it down somewhere, or even try and incorporate it into your storyline. **

**And as to your habit towards perfectionism... no writer is ever perfect, and no first draft, for sure, will be perfect. But that's okay. Most published stories have a zillion different drafts. Don't worry about achieving perfection on your first try, because (and we're being realistic here) it's not gonna happen. Don't be afraid to write stupid stuff, stuff that makes no sense, or stories with a ton of plot holes. The next time you go to write something, you'll want to keep in mind what you did wrong last time and do your best to correct that. It takes time to craft your art, and even still, after decades of work, it might not be to your satisfaction. That's okay. Just keep working, and you'll see the improvements.**

**But - take all of what I said with a grain of salt. I'm definitely not the best source for writing advice, and there are a ton of websites out there designed to encourage/inform writers. You know yourself best, and sometimes it is alright to drop ideas, but just know that if you never start, you'll never improve.**

**Wow that was long.**

**Well thanks to all of you guys who took the time to read this chapter, and I hope to see you all next week!**

**Cheers**


	29. Chapter 29

The night was cold, the wind sharp as it whistled between the cracks in the walls. It sang a haunting tune, as if the gale itself knew of the horrors that went on within Hogwarts. There used to be the croaking of toads and the distant buzz of fireflies, but the Dementors had scared all of it away, its grey, ghastly shroud hanging above them all. Sometimes, it was possible to hear the soft sobs from some of the younger children, as they cried themselves to sleep.

His footsteps echoed along the cobblestone floors, counting in tune with the ululating song.

It had been so very long since the last time Hydrus Malfoy had slept through the night. His dreams were plagued with visions; the sight of bodies, hammered to walls, with the wails of the muggle-borns as they were slaughtered right before his eyes, of the carnage, of the bodies, of the blood, of all of it - all of the death he had witnessed.

In the moment, many days past, as he shot the crossbow through the woman's side, as he burned what might have been half a dozen different witches and wizards alive… he could not remember feeling any regret. Worst of all, when he looked into Neville Longbottom's eyes, Hydrus Malfoy could not remember feeling any sorrow.

_Is that what I have become? A monster of my desires?_

The questions were impossible to answer, and so he did his best to not think of them. And yet, when one had a thousand hours filled with naught but liberty, it was difficult to do much else but reflect.

A fortnight had passed since they captured Hogwarts, and just as long since the British Ministry declared war on Lord Voldemort and his followers. Cornelius Fudge was busy in his office, no doubt under fire for the lax procedures he had put in place ever since Sirius Black's escape from Azkaban. It was only a matter of time before his entire political career fell apart; the muggles they had put in place of all ten ex-inmates in Azkaban were due to perish sometime within the next week. Bit by bit, any respect the man might have commanded would have broken apart, fracturing like brittle sweets.

It was a true pity. Cornelius Fudge was easy to manipulate and Hydrus doubted his successor would be the same.

If the man was trying to find allies in foreign Ministries, he would have no luck. With one hundred and seventy-four Neonates searching for any vile secret that might have been hidden with time, the Dark Lord had found a treasure trove of all sorts of extortions. Debts that had not been paid, mysterious deaths, corruption between politicians and a list that stretched all the way to the end of his six-foot-long scroll of parchment.

The letters had taken some time to be written, but when they were sent out, almost half of Europe's countries would refuse Cornelius Fudge's cry for aid.

_Blackmail is an interesting thing, _Hydrus Malfoy reflected, as he walked past an open balcony. His feet were sore from wandering throughout the castle, and the bench looked particularly welcoming.

Spies inside the Ministry told an interesting story regarding the current affairs of the Minister of Magic. He was never seen arriving to work or leaving - never seen at work entirely.

Cornelius Fudge had secluded himself in a faraway location, most likely under the Fidelius Charm, giving orders from his safe hideout. If anything, that made the wizarding population of Great Britain even more furious, though, Quirinus Quirrell did say, his successor would most likely employ the same tactic.

The Dark Lord didn't seem entirely surprised. Instead, he raised the price of a secret found in the British Ministry from a hundred galleons to five hundred; it would be much harder to worm information from this government, now that they were on high alert.

"We may never discover where the Minister is hiding," Quirinus Quirrell said one Death Eater meeting. The Dark Lord bowed to his wisdom above all else; unlike the rest, his word had never failed him. "And if that is the case, then perhaps we might find a way to force him out of his hiding."

The only question was how?

Not a single Neonate had brought in another secret from the British Ministry, and just a day's past, Romild had been caught by Aurors as he tried to sneak into their Department. It had caused quite the commotion, and multiple Neonates reported that he had been dragged away, screaming and thrashing.

No one knew what happened to him, but Hydrus assumed he had been questioned by them, and that the potion had taken effect. His body would be dead by now, after having coughed up his innards in the form of ashes.

_If they knew what the price for disobedience was, then perhaps they might have much less likely to join the Dark Lord's cause._

Maybe it was for the better that the Neonates could find no more secrets in the Ministry.

Lord Voldemort had the upper-hand regardless, and he spent his days planning, studying books in the castle library - no different than his days from before.

The Dark Lord had decided that Hogwarts would become his central point of power - not the Black Castle - and had thus ordered that his water snake stay on the grounds. What compelled the man to do so, he did not know.

Within Hogwarts, the house-elves seethed with fury behind their pale faces. Severus Snape had obtained the title as 'Headmaster', if only in name, unrightfully, and so there was a look - the sort of look one received in defiance - each time he ordered them to do something.

It was only a matter of time before one of them tried to poison the Dark Lord. Severus Snape had ordered that they never harm a single permanent resident of the castle, but loopholes were a tricky thing, and one way or another, vengeance always had its way.

Hydrus had offered his own house-elves as a replacement, but Lord Voldemort had refused.

To this day, he did not understand why.

There was more. The Ministry sent scouts along the castle every day, doing their absolute best to gather information and knowledge of its inhabitants. Hogwarts was Unplottable, but it was within walking distance of Hogsmeade, and so that protection was rendered almost useless.

They huddled on the outskirts of the grounds, like tiny black ants from a distance; insignificant, but annoying nonetheless.

The house-elves had brought Norberta over, and when she saw the figures from miles away, she bellowed golden flames in their direction, that vanished upon touching the purple-blue dome.

A few times, Lord Voldemort had let the Inner Circle loose on the Aurors, adding some more bodies to be nailed to the walls. Other times, he let the Dementors feast on their souls. Afterwards, the corpses would be burned, and the Great Hall would smell of both rotting carcasses and poisonous smoke.

It was a list, truly, a whole myriad of things that made it simply illogical for the Dark Lord to set his central point of power in Hogwarts, yet he did so regardless. To question Lord Voldemort would be extremely unwise - even for his beloved water snake - and so Hydrus did not dare say anything more.

The sun was beginning to rise, Lord Black could see, the sky lightening into a swirl of blood red and golden yellow.

It was only then did he realize how very tired he was. Hydrus Malfoy had spent the whole night pacing the lonely corridors of Hogwarts.

His feet led him down the hall, and into the rotten-smelling breakfast room.

There was no one present at the early hour, but the house-elves were quick to offer him a platter laden with pancakes and crisp bacon, scrambled eggs and a goblet full of pumpkin juice to wash it down.

It was a floppy-eared thing, with a soiled towel wrapped around her torso like a poorly made toga, her brown eyes burning with resentment. Wordlessly, she disapparated from the room.

He should have brought the platter of eggs and bacon to his bedroom, that way he wouldn't have to smell the bodies, rotting as they hung from the walls, but a voice came from the rafters.

"Do you think the Dark Lord will kill me?"

Hydrus Malfoy raised his head and looked at Albus Dumbledore. The ropes at his joints became tighter and tighter everyday, pulling at his wrists and ankles until the skin turned pink and bloody, chafed raw by the length of cord. A concoction of potions and stale water was fed to the man everyday, meant to keep him on the brink of death.

The Headmaster slumbered in and out of consciousness, mumbling incoherent words as his head drooped against his shoulder. Today, it seemed, he had gathered what little strength he possessed to speak to Hydrus.

"You are more use to him alive," Lord Black told him truthfully, his voice strangely apathetic.

For a long time there was silence, as he sipped pumpkin juice from a golden goblet. Then, Albus Dumbledore spoke once more, his voice breaking apart like dry wood. "You are the one who must end this, Harry. Born as the seventh month dies… to parents who have thrice defied him… And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives… The power to defeat the Dark Lord… love… love…"

The room was ripe with the scent of decaying bodies, but in that moment, Hydrus Malfoy could not remember smelling any of it. He felt hot - hot like burning fire. It couldn't be. The Headmaster was a lying, vile cunt. He… he...

_And either must die at the hand of the other_…

The words echoed in his mind, whispering a thousand times over.

He remembered the knife; the silver-gold knife with a leather-wrapped pommel, a cursed gift from what was the closest thing he had to a friend. He remembered as he dragged it across Neville Longbottom's throat. The boy was dead. The knife had cut all the way to the bone, and his corpse had been burned by Lord Voldemort.

_He's gone, _Hydrus thought numbly. _Neville Longbottom was never the child of this prophecy._

Once more, he found himself craning his head to meet Albus Dumbledore's eyes. They were bright blue, bluer than a clear summer sky, grown old and weary with time, but fierce nonetheless.

"You're lying," Lord Black told him, his voice on the edge of hysteria. "I serve the Dark Lord, and you're trying to tear us apart."

The Headmaster did not respond. His eyes had rolled to the back of his head once more, until it was only possible to see the whites. Drool, glistening like silver, fell from his mouth.

Hydrus' hands were shaking as he picked up the golden plate and left the Great Hall.

__(O.O)__

The Neonates came and went from the castle, some choosing to live as permanent residents, others renting flats all over Europe. Those who chose to brave the screams of tortured children and the smell of rotting corpses were given a room just as lavish as the pureblood hostages, with all the amenities they might need.

During the day, they left for work, some as early as sunrise, others as late as sunset. They kept to themselves when they were in the castle, having breakfast delivered to their rooms, and dinner served in their private quarters. Hogwarts was a big place, made bigger when only seventy wizards were roaming the castle; the hostages had been allowed the freedom to go as they pleased, but most did not dare leave their rooms.

Those that did turned in the opposite direction the moment they saw Lord Black, scurrying away like nameless grey rats. Even eighteen-year-old legal adults kept their head down when they saw him, although it was possible, very much possible, to feel the boldness in their shielded gaze.

There was no one to talk to during the long days, no one but Quirinus Quirrell during their daily two hour lessons and those were sparse as they were. During the time in between, he was nowhere in sight, and when Hydrus asked, he gave a cryptic answer.

Not for the first time, he spent hours with Norberta, running in the purple-blue dome as her heads shot jets of golden flames at his robes, scratching her neck when she did something particularly wise, or when he felt like it. Her scales were smoother than silk but harder than steel, black like nightmares, but turned a glorious silver when the sun shone.

Today he watched as she soared to the very top of the dome, careful not to brush her tail against the rippling surface. She had done it once, and that had been more than enough of a lesson. But he could see the frustration, writ upon her lizard-like face, as she puffed grey smoke through her nostrils, and let out wordless cries from her mute mouth. Dragons were made to fly - to fly in the wilderness, doing as they pleased, hunting animals and burning fields. Norberta could not do that - not when they were a guest in the Dark Lord's castle, and so she stomped her talonless feet with impatience and flung spurts of golden flames at the barrier.

They sizzled upon impact, and the surface had rippled like water, before the fire vanished.

The flames were a great yellow and orange, red at the tips, as bright as a midday sun. They were a work of art, prettier than anything Hydrus Malfoy had ever seen. He wished his own fires could be as delicate.

Not for the first time, he clenched his hands and watched as coppery embers came to life, the colour of wet mud after a harsh rain. It could still burn things - setting those wizards afire had proved as much - but something told him they were weaker, colder and a thousand times more fragile than before.

Norberta landed not too far from him, her forked tail thumping against the green grass as she landed, her two heads turned abruptly to the right.

Hydrus followed her gaze, and saw a young witch, her pale blonde hair lighter than white, as cold as ice. She looked uncertain, standing half a dozen feet away from the rippling dome, her hands tucked behind her back, watching Norberta study her with apprehension.

No hostage, regardless of their bravery, would dare come so close to the Dark Lord's fearsome water snake. She would have to be a Neonate.

"You can come in," Hydrus told her, suddenly very aware about how awkward and unkept he must have looked. His hair had been blown from left to right, from the front to the back by Norberta's withering flames, and his robes were caked with mud and dirt and bits of dry leaves and magical unburnable grass. They were Acromantula silk, thankfully, and so he still had something to cover himself. "Although, the last person who came in here tried to burn his fingers off by touching the fire. If you promise you won't try that…"

She flushed. "I wanted to speak to you… outside… perhaps…"

Hydrus shook his palms free of the flames, brushed his hand over the larger of Norberta's heads, giving Bumelia a good pat, and then a rub under Paula's rigid chin when her head came reaching for his fingers. They were frightening, he supposed. Dragons only needed two years before they would fully mature. Five months had passed since the day she'd come from that egg, a squalling, tiny thing, and already Norberta spanned seven feet from head to tail, made even more ferocious by her two heads with glimmering red eyes. She snapped her teeth at the poor girl, and another swirl of fire came racing through her mouth.

Norberta had become rather distrustful of strangers after that day. Hydrus supposed he could hardly blame her.

"I'll be back soon," he whispered to her.

She gave a soundless whine in his wake, and glared at him through the barrier.

Hydrus turned to the girl, and together, they walked to the shade of a nearby cedar. The hour was hot, and the sun hung directly above them. Lord Black couldn't feel the heat - in the same sort of way that he couldn't feel the burn of fire. He watched as the girl wiped her brow. "If there's anything I can help you with…"

"I wanted to thank you," she told him, her voice soft. "You saved my life."

Had he?

Hydrus could hardly remember ever seeing the girl - or witch rather; she was most likely half a dozen years older than him. When would he have saved her life?

"During the battle," the girl said quickly, when she saw his confusion, "one of the members of the Order killed Marvin… he would have killed me too, I think, but then you - you burned him. Thank you."

_It wasn't your life I was trying to save, _Hydrus wanted to tell her. _It's Daphne's and Draco's and Hermione's. I don't even know your name. _Instead, he found himself giving an awkward grin. "You're welcome."

"I'm - I'm Karoline," she added after a long, awkward pause.

_Why are you telling me this? I don't care about you. _But then, at the very last moment, Hydrus remembered the etiquette lessons with Aldebaran Rowle. "That's a beautiful name. I am -"

"Hydrus Malfoy. We all know who you are." She flushed once more.

"We?"

"Us. The - the Neonates. At least, that's what the Inner Circle calls us…" Karoline fidgeted with her hands, and at last, met his eyes. "You're a hero. The Boy-Who-Lived, the Dragon-tamer, your hands… the fire… it's… incredible."

_Dragon-tamer, _Hydrus Malfoy found himself thinking. _What sort of stupid name is that?_

After that day, he found himself noticing their eyes much more. Watching him, during terse dinners in the Great Hall, as they came and went from the castle, bringing all sorts of secret letters and messages stolen from foreign Ministries. They stopped to stare, to watch Norberta in her purple-blue dome, or Hydrus himself, as his hands were ablaze with coppery flames.

Once or twice, they brought their plates over, and sat down beside him during early breakfasts or late lunches. And they spoke to him, talking about anything and everything. Some were easier to speak to than others, and some more were witty and some were quiet, and they were all half a dozen years older than him, but a sort of respect lingered in their gaze, coupled with admiration.

Some made him laugh, others made him think, and some more shared japes and stories and crowded around him, as if he were a candle, and they were a pack of unruly moths.

It was strange how the company of a few people could change one's life. His days were, oddly enough, filled with their laughter, as some worked late hours and others worked early ones. Hydrus showed them Norberta, and his dear two-headed dragon even let them scratch her head, albeit grudgingly. He showed them his coppery flames, watching their eyes grow big, as their mouths grew slack and wide.

Some shared anecdotes with him, told him stories of their work, telling him of all the different customs of half a dozen different countries, their languages, their foods, their people, and once, late at night, as Hydrus sat on the rooftops with Oliver Muller, he told him of some of the secrets he'd found in the German Ministry.

"He's ein slob. I vork ein desk-chob, ein dosen offices avay from him. During his lunch preaks, zee itiot doesn't effen cloze his doors. Zere are letters ubon letters inzide... he is haffing ein affair vith his zecredary, did you know? She's ein hot vitch, und I zuboze I can't plame him - oh, vu're too young to undersdand. Vell, I haffe zee letder zee she zent to 'im. Loffe letders, filled vith all zorts of little zexual innuentos. I am koing to schow it to zee Dark Lord lader."

Hydrus had nodded dumbly, not entirely sure if he wanted to hear about the love life of the German Prime Minister.

Some more he talked philosophy, also late at night, as they shared what it was like to kill a person. Five of them, sitting in a circle, in Darian's chamber. All had been present at the battle of Hogwarts, and all had their hands bloodied by war.

There was a strange sort of connection they made that night, and Hydrus found himself speaking about the day he killed Belvina Black, and the time before where he murdered Susan Bones in the very library underneath their feet.

"I always thought it would be… glorious," Marik said quietly. "To serve a cause as great as this."

He clutched the stump of his right thumb gingerly, for the flesh was still healing and even the slightest of touches would burn like fire. A member of the Order had done this to him, slicing it off just before the top of his second joint with a powerful severing spell. They could not go to St. Mungo's, for the Healers would ask too many questions, and instead, Severus Snape had cauterized the wound shut, doing the best he could to heal the flesh. Regardless, magic could not regrow fingers.

Marik was young and bright - one had to be to survive Durmstrang's rigorous courses - with bronze hair that shone like gold in the candlelight. When he smiled, dimples would appear on his freckled cheeks, but the man rarely had reason to smile these days. His right hand was his wand hand, and one could not hold anything - much less a wand - without a thumb; without a wand, he was almost useless. For now, he took time off of work, but when he returned… the French Ministry had banned the discrimination against disabled wizards when it came to employment, but they all knew that his option would be as limited as could be when he returned.

"The Dark Lord will bring justice to the world," Darian said, though his voice came out much weaker than what he might have intended. "Your thumb is the price you pay to rid the world of filth."

_You're wrong, _Hydrus Malfoy had thought. _The price for salvation is death. A thumb is nothing._

Those were the worst of the nights, where they huddled around a singular candle and drank too much. Even Hydrus. There was a strange sort of peace of mind to his once ferocious aversion of alcohol. It tasted much more pleasing than he remembered, and the effects were a welcome aversion to the real world.

"How do you… how do you live… knowing that you killed another person?" Felix had asked, his voice strained and slurred from the firewhisky.

Hydrus shrugged, his muddled mind momentarily terrified by how nonchalant his voice sounded. "You get used to it after a while."

__(O.O)__

Lord Voldemort was an impatient man, and Hydrus felt his irritation as he took a seat at the High Table. He had spent too much time talking with Marik on the rooftops last night, drinking one too many bottles of firewhisky. Should a boy that young even drink something so strong?

Whatever the answer was, his head was still pounding faintly from the after-effects of the drink. He had downed a Hangover Potion this morning, and thankfully, it was beginning to take effect.

Fenrir Greyback stood before them, his face wild and unshaven, thick cords of muscle running down his arms and legs like intertwined snakes. When he spoke, it was in a hoarse rasp, deep and grating as a handful of jagged rocks.

Before him, tied at the wrists and bound at the ankles, was a thin man with greying hair and jagged cuts running down his face. The left side of his face was covered by a purplish bruise, swollen until his eye was nothing but a slit, so narrow Hydrus Malfoy did not think he could see. Dried blood caked his ragged robes, and some more rubbed off onto the floor; a brownish stain that followed wherever his limbs writhed.

For a moment, the ragged man raised his head and met the eyes of Lord Voldemort… and then, they moved to the left, and saw his dear water snake. A strange, throaty sound came from his mouth; an odd combination between a scream, a gasp and a wail.

_A member of the Order, then_, Hydrus Malfoy thought. _And a werewolf? The chances..._

The Dark Lord had recruited the werewolves to his cause, but decreed that they had no use when it came to taking Hogwarts. More savage animals on a full moon only meant more work.

Hydrus had only met the fearsome beast once, and that was many months ago when Lord Voldemort had discussed their alliance. Then, the werewolf had laughed at the idea of an eleven-year-old boy sitting at the left-hand side of the Dark Lord. Time had passed, and tales of his great black dragon and prowess in magic spread. Now Fenrir Greyback gave a nod to Hydrus Malfoy as he sat down.

He turned his gaze back to Lord Voldemort. "A spy, sent from that wretched Order. I found him in our pack, pretending to be one of our own. A werewolf, he claimed to be, another recruit for your great cause, until I found him, writing a letter against my command… he knows things, my Lord."

Hydrus turned his eyes to the ceiling, looking at the Headmaster's stained robes. They hung on the thin corpse, dangling like dead leaves.

The Dark Lord stood up, his dark cloak swirling behind him as he joined his water snake in looking above. "You spy on my cause? I think that will be a life taken… but who? Not this man… he knows much… but we have many more lives to spare. Lucius, how many of those children do we have in our dungeons?"

"Seven hundred and forty-three, my Lord."

"Yes… plenty. Now who shall go first, I wonder? The first-years? Eleven-year-olds… or… perhaps the older ones… watching them scream will be interesting…"

Albus Dumbledore made a strange grunting noise. His blue eyes flickered to life, and a hollow sound came from his throat. "No… do not… the children… sworn to protect…"

"A terrible notion, I am no doubt sure… house-elves… creatures… I want him wide awake for what is to come." The Dark Lord turned to Fenrir Greyback. "I thank you for this information. Chain the man."

He didn't put up much of a struggle as iron shackles were wrapped in place of the twined cord. They ran across the width of the room, pulled tight until his arms were wrenched out of their sockets, bulging like swollen kneecaps.

Lord Voldemort clasped his fingers together. "What is your name, new friend?"

Their prisoner said nothing.

The Dark Lord made a tutting noise and swished his wand. "I expect an answer." A cracking noise could be heard, and Hydrus Malfoy watched as his arms twisted at odd angles, looking as if he had another ten joints per arm. It was a sort of inhuman shape, zig-zagging and protruding wherever it pleased.

The man opened his mouth and let loose a horrendous shriek, the sound bouncing off the walls of the Great Hall, echoing throughout the castle. He tried to move his lips, but the only thing that came out was a broken hiss. Blood spattered as he tried to speak, and a yellowed tooth clattered to the floor.

"What was that?" the Dark Lord asked. "I couldn't hear you properly." The Death Eaters began to laugh, and Hydrus Malfoy added his weak chuckles. "Speak up, new friend."

A bubble of foamy blood and spit came running down his chin. The man coughed some more, and then rasped the words, "Remus Lupin."

"Remus Lupin…" Lord Voldemort repeated ponderously. "Now where have we heard that name before, Bella?"

She scowled. "Filthy half-breed. A catspaw for that wretched creature… you ought to give him a bloody death, my Lord. I say we have those chains pull him apart - that way, we can also squeeze the information from him. Wouldn't that be fun, my Lord? I can't wait to do it with you."

Bellatrix Lestrange leaned her head on the Dark Lord's shoulder. Hydrus Malfoy felt very awkward all of a sudden. For some reason, watching Remus Lupin's butchered arms was easier than listening to the weird sounds the witch was making.

At last, Lord Voldemort must have pushed her away, for he continued to speak once more. "Your enthusiasm for torture is an excellent example to us all, Bella. A death at the hands of the Dark Lord… a fitting way to die… especially since your very best friend perished the same way…"

Remus Lupin could not respond; his arms were beginning to purple and swell, turning the colour of overripe pomegranates as a thousand blood vessels were punctured by bone. His mouth opened once more, and this time a soft whimper came out. Tears had begun to make their laborious travel against his bruised face, and where it was not covered by cuts and lesions, his skin was turning to a pale, milky white.

Hydrus Malfoy had seen that happen to some of the muggle-borns. Soon after, they fainted, and Bellatrix had sighed running a dagger across their throats and ending it all. Whatever gods watched over their souls were merciful that day.

Remus Lupin would not have the same mercy, Lord Black knew. The Dark Lord needed information on the inner workings of the Order. Severus Snape was, for all intents and purposes, dead. "A decade past, I slew your best friend in his very own home, and went on to slay his mudblood wife… upstairs was the newborn child… while James and Lily Potter lay on the ground, I made for their son… a great wizard. A powerful wizard. And here he stands today, at my left-hand side. Older, yes, and a thousand times more powerful. It would be interesting if he were to end your life, wouldn't it?"

Hydrus had heard tales, of course, of his father's four, odd friends. One, a traitor, another a werewolf, and one a pro-muggle raised by the Black family. He thought Remus Lupin might look more impressive. Perhaps with thick cords of muscle running along his arms and legs as they did on Fenrir Greyback, with grey, bristling hair. When he screamed, he half expected a howl, and when the man cried out in pain, Hydrus thought he might hear a whimper; the sound a dog made when hurt.

Remus Lupin gave no response but a muffled moan.

_I could kill him, _Hydrus Malfoy found himself thinking. James Potter was nothing to him, and neither was this man. It would be like torching a handful of bodies or shooting that woman with a crossbow; no names, no passion, nothing but orders meant to be followed. _He is already a dead man._

Some part of him wondered if Remus Lupin would scream if he died afire. All of them had in the past, but perhaps, with his arms twisted as they were… could he feel pain as it was?

"Of course," the Dark Lord continued, paying no attention to the pitiful whines the man gave, "that won't happen today. You are much more useful to me alive than dead. In fact, I believe there are some things you ought to do before you die, don't you think? I thought a good reunion of sorts should be in order; the mutt is out in the yard, staring at that dragon as he always is, but I think he'll be excited to see you."

If Remus Lupin understood to whom he referred to, he gave no indication. The agony would make him pass out soon enough. It was a wonder he had not already - perhaps turning into a werewolf once a month gave a wizard much higher pain tolerance. Or perhaps, being a werewolf made one much more resilient to broken bones. Whatever it was that kept him conscious, it was losing its power quickly; his eyes were fluttering and his muttering had turned into one incoherent cry, growing softer by the second.

Lord Voldemort sent the summons, and as they waited for the Mongrel, he flicked his wand almost lazily, and Remus Lupin was wide awake, to feel the pain of his broken arms. How long it was, Hydrus Malfoy did not know, but the prisoner's moans had gotten softer when the mutt came through one of the side doors.

Spending weeks in scorching sunlight with no garments to shield the skin meant he had tanned significantly; his complexion had darkened to the colour of warm brass, as rich as the smell of earth after a rain. He ducked underneath the silver chains that ran across the width of the room and came to kneel before the Dark Lord. "Master."

"Rise, Mongrel. Look, behind you. Do you recognise the man?"

Dark, shaggy hair swirled around his shoulder as he turned his head. Sirius Black might once have been a muscular and athletic young wizard; youthfulness often did that, but even months after escaping Azkaban, he did not have much of a taste for food. From the behind, he must have been difficult to recognise.

When the Mongrel turned, however…

Remus Lupin let loose a broken cry. Somehow, despite all the shrieks that had come streaming from his mouth, this was one was the most sorrowful. It struck through the room, whizzing like a golden spear. "Sirius…" he mumbled.

"_Mongrel_," the beast roared. His fists clenched, and he leaped to his feet. "_I am Mongrel."_

Hydrus Malfoy could not quite tell what the look on Remus Lupin's face meant. It was a strange contortion between anguish and hopelessness, where his features scrunched as one, collapsing under the burden of sheer emotion. "What… what have they _done_ to you, Sirius?"

"_MONGREL_," he screamed. Spittle came flying from his mouth, spraying across the glossy floor. "_My name is MONGREL."_

"Your friend paid dearly for the crimes of another," the Dark Lord said quietly, ignoring the outburst. "Ten years in Azkaban is a long, long time, but I promised him revenge… it is a wonder what fulfillment can do to a person. Your friend has changed, Remus Lupin. For the better. As will the world. You have information that can help me on my journey - _our_ journey - to better wizardkind. I can retrieve from your mind, of course, but I risk ruining your mental stability… it does not have to be that way, Remus Lupin. It is easier for us both, you do not think? Open your mind to me, and in return I will allow you to leave unharmed… or rather, in a state no worse than what you are in currently. My offer is merciful, Remus Lupin. Your mind will crumble under my mental assault. It is only a matter of time."

He was brave; Hydrus could say as much of the pale man. His eyes were the colour of soft caramel, but there was nothing soft about them now. They were harder than steel, bright with defiance.

The pain must have been overwhelming by then, his arms… but perhaps he had already gone into a shock of sorts, unable to feel the shards of bone, digging their way through soft muscle. He held still, even as the Dark Lord raised his wand and bellowed, "_CRUCIO."_

For a short while - made longer when Hydrus had to listen to his screams - the witches and wizards seated at the High Table watched as Remus Lupin danced in his silver chains. His arms twitched, as broken as they were, and his legs did a funny jiggle. Hydrus might have laughed if he did not know the sheer amount of pain the werewolf was in.

When finally, he jerked away, Remus Lupin collapsed, and might have fallen to his knees if the silver chains had not yanked on his mangled arms, forcing him to stand.

"What does the Order plan?" he demanded.

Remus Lupin spat once more, but no blood came with the spittle.

"Insolence is not a particularly appealing quality for captives. The Order must be disjointed, disorganized and scattered… with your leader hanging from my ceiling, who leads now? It can't be you, and many of your original members were slain years and years ago… could it be that Shacklebolt? Perhaps."

The Dark Lord already had half a dozen wizards following Kingsley Shacklebolt from dusk till dawn. There were plenty more people willing to join his cause, now that he had taken Hogwarts; all sorts of young witches and wizards looking for gold and glory. They reported little from the mundane office work - though one had said that he repeatedly left for long durations of time, and was unable to track him after that. Lord Voldemort suspected him the most.

Remus Lupin said nothing, a testament, if nothing else, to his loyalty.

The Dark Lord sighed, almost sounding bored. "I had hoped for a little show, but if you must insist on being so dull…" He turned his gaze to Bellatrix Lestrange. "We'll start with the first-years."

At that, the creature's eyes bulged wide open, and a muffled gasp came from his mouth. Hydrus thought he heard him groan a word or two, but it was impossible to say.

She brought them in, linked at the feet and hands, their faces dirty and pale, some as thin as twigs. There were seventeen in all, as dead to the world as the corpses hanging from the walls.

"Start at the left, Bella. For every question our friend does not answer, you have my blessing to draw a line. Now," Lord Voldemort said, clasping his fingers together, "what does the Order plan?"

Remus Lupin stayed silent, but his eyes were alight with worry and pain.

"No answer? Well. Bella?"

A silver knife was already in hand. Taking her time, she drew a long slash that stretched from the tip of his forehead all the way to the boy's chin. A corpse might have stayed silent, but the child clung to life with thin hands. The boy screamed as blood ran down his neck, staining his already dirty and ripped robes a dark red.

Remus Lupin shivered in his chains, almost seeming to forget his mangled arms. "_Stop it,"_ he roared. "Tell you… tell you… just stop… stop…"

Nevermind. Remus Lupin could never be truly loyal if he broke at the first sight of pain.

"If you want my dear Bella to stop… you must answer the question, my friend. _What is the order planning to do?"_

For a long time, all they could hear was the little boy's muffled whimpers, as blood ran down his face. His arms were chained, and so there was nothing to stop it as it ran through his eyes, flowing past his parched lips, and down mottled skin, as pale as moonlight.

Then, Remus Lupin spoke in a strangled sob. "Meeting… the Prime Minister… alliance… stop hurting him… he's… he's just a little boy… _please_…"

If the information troubled the Dark Lord, he gave no sign. "Yes but where are you meeting him? I need an answer, friend…"

Bellatrix was already poised to deal a second stroke on the boy's wounded face.

"No," Remus Lupin gasped, almost looking as if he were choking on air. "Don't… don't hurt him any longer… Godric's Hollow… there…"

Hydrus heard a ripple of mumbling that coursed through the Death Eaters. Godric's Hollow was a popular wizard-inhabited village, out-numbering their muggle counterparts by plenty. Meeting there… that would be foolish.

"Do you lie, Remus Lupin?" Lord Voldemort whispered, his voice fluttering across the room like venomous butterflies, poised to kill. "I don't like lies…"

"It's true!" he wailed, just as Bellatrix sunk the tip of the knife in the boy's shoulder. "Kingsley said… hide in a crowd… easier that way…"

"I am not fond of liars," the Dark Lord said. "Those who lie to my face will be severely punished…"

"_It's true…"_

"Who will be present?"

For a moment, Remus Lupin seemed to blanch. "Vance… Alastor… Felicia…"

"Only four?"

"More…" he insisted weakly. "Names… I do not know of all of them…"

The Dark Lord's features was an unmoving statue of grey stone. He raised his wand. "_Legilimens_."

For a long moment - however long it was, Hydrus Malfoy did not know - they stared into each other's eyes, as Lord Voldemort dug through the deep crevasses of his mind, searching for his hidden secrets, raping his consciousness, until only the truth was left. Finally, he let go.

Remus Lupin seemed paler than before, if that was possible. Sweat had begun to fall from his forehead, and his eyes had a crazed, insane look to them. They stared ahead, unseeing.

"A strong mental defence, impressive for someone under so much pain. But not enough. It rarely is. You -" he gestured to the house-elf "- make sure he is fed and given water. Tend to his wounds, but use no magic to do so. There are plenty of cells in the dungeons. Put him in one."

The house-elf bowed a shallow bow and took his time in undoing the silver chains around Remus Lupin's arms. When they disappeared, Lord Voldemort stood. "I thank you for your service, Fenrir Greyback. Know that my favour rests with you."

He bowed deep and low, a stark contrast to the house-elf, before striding through the main doors, his large, hulking body moving with surprising grace for someone so big.

"Lucius," the Dark Lord said when he left, "often, you have begged for a chance to redeem yourself. Now is the chance to take the Minister when he is unaware. You will lead the ambush. Gather the wizards you require, and the equipment necessary. I want Scrimgeour alive, preferably, but if you must, a corpse is good as well. Our friend is yours to interrogate as you please, but I need him alive. The rest of you, know that you are dismissed."

Bellatrix Lestrange stood, soon followed by her brother-in-law, Rabastan. The Mongrel bowed low before he left as well, and one by one, all of the members of the Inner Circle present left the Great Hall.

Hydrus stood as well. His legs were cramped from sitting for so long, and he massaged them awkwardly.

That night, as Lord Black walked the cold, empty hallways of Hogwarts, he looked out the window for a moment. The world was blanketed by darkness, slumbering uneasily as the distant grey shrouds loomed over them all.

For how long he stood, next to the window, Hydrus Malfoy did not know. It was as if he were waiting for something - though the thing in question eluded him. Seconds, minutes, hours, and the world was still as black as nightmares, motionless in the face of the smoky gods that looked over them all.

And then - he saw it.

A white-ish silvery thing was flowing through the dark sky, becoming smaller and smaller by the second. The grey shrouds parted for the bright apparition, almost shying away as if terrified by the creature.

For a moment, it almost seemed like a wolf, galloping on its way to freedom.

* * *

**A/N:**

**This was actually a pretty difficult chapter to write. I think all the chapters that happen after a super climactic event are hard to write 'cause you need to find a way to keep the reader entertained, especially after the insane stuff that happened last week.**

**Today's chapter is slower than what I might have liked and covered a lot less than what I would have wanted, but it will pay off next week (yep, I already have that written so I can say so for sure). **

**This week... there were FIVE new reviews! You guys are spoiling me :3**

**Special thanks to KingZeRopL, This-Mickey-Seems-Iffy, Richard Toledo and Hman10110 for taking the time to review my story!**

**There was a slight glitch as you pointed out in your second review, KingZeRopL, but at one point or another throughout the week, it got fixed, and all of the reviews posted are now visible. I'm super happy you enjoyed last week's chapter - and it's while writing it that I realized how easy it is for Voldemort to take Hogwarts. Throughout Year 5 & 6 at Hogwarts, even though Voldemort's return was known to Dumbledore, this guy never put any more security precautions than a couple of Aurors and (maybe?) a few extra wards. He assumes the Gryffindor Tower password would protect Harry, but the thing is, a rat can spy on students and learn them pretty easily. It also doesn't hurt if you've got a fellow roommate who **_writes them all down_** (Neville my buddy, c'mon). Albus Dumbledore never knew about the secret passageways until the end of Harry's third year (or else he would have found a way to block it), and at that time, the Headmaster's name was being dragged through the mud for hiring a professor that tortured a first-year student with the Cruciatus, so you can imagine just how willing Fudge is to listen to the guy's words.**

**Snape's spying on Voldemort, so we know Albus Dumbledore knew about the attack weeks before it was about to happen. Thing is, Snape doesn't know how Voldemort will get into the school (you can assume Lord Voldemort told the plan at the last minute, giving Snape no time to tell Dumbledore how they were going to infiltrate the school). So Dumbledore knows a force of some amount of Death Eaters + 'Meat Shields' will be attacking his school, and while he can do everything in his power to prepare, that isn't very much. He has all the members of the Order (but not too many, or else it'll seem like someone spied on the Dark Lord) patrolling the hallways, but that isn't exactly much.**

**So yeah tl;dr Dumbledore is a bit over-confident and in the books, Voldemort could have ended the entire wizarding war before it even started by the fourth book if he sent some sort of wizard assassin with a muggle knife to go slit Harry's throat in his sleep.**

**I'm super duper happy you like my take on this 'Dark Lord loyalist' trope and as for your taste in literature... well... sounds fun... Hydrus Malfoy isn't... _evil_ per se - I better shut up before I start spoiling stuff. But know that no one in this fanfic is entirely black or white and that stuff will happen... and when it does I hope you enjoy it XD**

**That was looong. To This-Mickey-Seems-Iffy, judging by what you wrote in your reviews, you've probably abandoned the story long before Chapter 29, but I feel like responding because... why not? First off, nope Harry does not save poor Dudders. It says... well it's been a while since I read Chapter 1 (I know I said I'd be rewriting as I go, but these chapters keep getting longer and longer and it's increasingly hard to find time for rewriting), but I do know that Dudley is dead. Harry offered his hands to his cousin, but Dudley was scared, and so he fell off the tv (I think it was?) and into the flames. He's dead.**

**To your second review, regarding Hydrus' new family - the Malfoys are a bunch of prickly blood-purist stuck-ups for sure, but Harry Potter _is _the Boy-Who-Lived, and that seems to trump his blood-status (showed when Draco tried to befriend Harry during their first year at Hogwarts). Along with that, Harry is the son of James Potter - who's the son of Euphemia Black (yep I know a lot of fanfics have her as 'Dorea Black'), technically making him Narcissa's... well I'm not gonna do the math. Something along the lines of second cousin/nephew(?). But they're family. And she's the only family still alive (take that Dumbledore), so logically, custody goes to her. She can refuse, but he's the Boy-Who-Lived, and who doesn't want him as a son?**

**To Richard Toledo... (you'll never see this but...) I know the stuff I write about isn't for everybody, and I am sorry that it wasn't the right thing for you, but know that I'm super honoured that you took the time to even pick up my fanfic (that goes to all my readers as well), so if anything, thank you :) PS I also updated the rating to M in your honour**

**And last but not least: Hman10110! Thank you for your kind words :) Maybe one day you'll read the 27 chapters in between and see this message :)**

**And... I think that marks the longest ever Author's Note I've written. You know the other day, I found out... that you can reply to reviews directly! (Yes, yes I know... roll your eyes at me all you want... :3 I'm trying XD) From now on I think I'll be doing that, unless they're long, open-ended questions, in which case you'll get an essay filled with bad spelling and grammar attached to the end of each week's new chapter.**

**Thanks for reading!**

**Hope to see you all next week :)**


	30. Chapter 30

They did not speak of his darkening flames, not after that day so many months ago. But Hydrus checked every morning as he woke, flexing his hands and watching as they inched towards inky blackness.

"I saw something last night," he told Quirinus Quirrell.

The morning sun was hidden by thick clouds, turned to a dull trickle that made its laborious route through the window. Candles had been lit on the tables, though they did little to chase away the gloominess brought by the dark sky.

They were trying - trying for almost a fortnight now - to perfect the Summoning Spell, a spell required for his fourth year but that had many uses outside of academia. Hydrus flicked his wand at the cushion and said, "_Accio cushion_."

Nothing happened, but a little wiggle. He sighed, unsurprised. It took him an embarrassing amount of time to master spells.

Quirinus Quirrell stroked his chin. "You saw something?"

"A silver thing in the sky."

"Are you sure they were not stars?"

Hydrus Malfoy gave him a look, which must have seemed foolish with sweat pouring down his face. "It moved. Growing smaller and smaller. Stars don't move - and it wasn't a comet. The Dementors parted for the silver thing."

Quirinus Quirrell looked out the window, and Hydrus was quick to follow his gaze. The grey shrouds floated with the wind, a thousand, perhaps more, clustered around the fringes of school property. Today, with the sky as overcast as it was, it was almost impossible to tell where the clouds ended and where the Dementors began.

"There is only one thing they fear," he said. "And that is a Patronus. No Death Eater can cast one - no one but Severus. Perhaps he was feeling sentimental."

There was a mocking tone to his voice, prompting Hydrus to look at him curiously.

"You'll understand when you're older," Quirinus Quirrell told him.

_Older? _Hydrus thought. _After all of this? _

"When you're older," he repeated. "You haven't had the best role models when it comes to these things."

Whatever 'these things' were, Hydrus did not know, though he did know for a fact that Severus Snape felt no other mood but pettiness and anger. Feeling thoroughly confused, he said his goodbyes to Quirinus Quirrell when the two hours were over and returned to his quiet world inside Norberta's purple-blue dome.

By then, a drizzle had begun to pour from the sky, pattering against the barrier with light _pings._ Bumelia, the bigger of her heads, roared great golden flames at the rain, causing quite a ruckus.

Paula gave him a look - as if dragons could transmit sympathy, and Hydrus rubbed her head knowingly.

He spent much time thinking - thinking of Albus bloody Dumbledore in his dirty robes, hanging from the ceiling, forever in a state of semi-lucid consciousness.

_What are the words of a mad man, drugged by potions? _

"Nothing," Hydrus whispered. The rain drowned his voice, but it lingered in his mind, echoing a thousand times over.

_Nothing, _it went, _nothing, nothing, nothing._

_Prophecies are a bunch of horse dung, and Seers are old people with too much time on their hands. Narcissa once told you that. Their words are garbage, and you shouldn't pay any attention to their filth. _

And yet, the Dark Lord believed in this garbage. What would he do if he heard the delirious mumblings that Albus Dumbledore uttered? Would he kill Hydrus Malfoy there and then? Or would he scoff and laugh and call it a ploy to divide them?

_He won't kill me. He won't hurt me. I'm… a son to him, in many ways. _

His fingers caressed the length of Norberta back.

_I can't die, _Hydrus thought. If he died, then so did Hermione's chance of survival. Daphne's too, perhaps.

"Prophecies are rubbish," he announced to Norberta. She craned her heads at him, before blowing a jet of golden flames at the pattering rain. "_Prophecies are rubbish,"_ he said louder, just in case anyone was listening.

Later that day, he ate dinner with the five wizards once more, this time in the Astronomy Tower, overlooking the Great Lake and its glimmering surface. The thick grey clouds had parted to welcome the sunset by then, and the sky was turned a bloody red.

It lit the world with a dimming glow but provided just enough to spot Hagrid's hut. Before, what seemed like a thousand years' past, green vines and plump purple flowers had climbed its wooden walls, and a patch of deep orange pumpkins basked in the afternoon sun. All that remained of his home was nothing more than the stone base and some charred wood. Whoever had burned his hut, Hydrus did not want to know, but found himself feeling maddening fury at their tyrannical actions.

Hagrid's body had never been found, though he never asked. Sometimes he wondered if his yellowed bones lay in the ashes and wet soil, what remained of the burned flesh sloughed off by maggots and bugs.

The thought made him sad for some reason.

_That makes you a bloody hypocrite, _Hydrus thought. _Your Transfiguration, Charms, Herbology and Flying professor were butchered before your eyes, but only now, staring at the destroyed hut of a man you openly loathed, you feel sorrow. What sort of grief is this?_

He did not know. But as Felix and Marik and Darian and Goren and Urylid shared japes and stories, Hydrus Malfoy excused himself from their company and walked down the circling stairs of the Astronomy Tower, making his laborious way down seven floors before he arrived at the bottom.

The air was damp outside and smelled of wet dirt and fresh leaves.

Hydrus took a deep breath and made his way to Hagrid's hut. The grass crunched underneath his feet, and some of it wet the fringes of his trousers, but he could not feel it.

Some part of him wondered why it was only now he had found the courage to go digging amongst the ashes, if only to try and find Hagrid's bones. Some part of him wondered what this strange feeling was inside of him, wrapping around his heart with icy fingers, sucking away any emotion he might have felt until there was only apathy left.

It was different from the pain after Belvina's death, different from the fear after Susan's. There was something else to it… something he could not quite put his finger on.

This was the first time he had come near the blackened remains of his hut, to stand within three feet of the ashes and embers. Even now, there was an after-smell - a sort of dark and sad scent that curled around his nose and eyes and made them water.

Quietly, he stepped in between the chipped stone and kneeled amidst the ashes and broken shards of glass.

Hydrus Malfoy saw it almost immediately. A little bit of white, poking out amidst the dark grey charcoal. It seemed wrong to touch a person's bones after their death, but there was no other way to move it. His fingers dug through the wet soil, finding worms and bugs, and then, the rest of the bones.

They were yellowish and caked with dirt, but when Hydrus rubbed the corner of his robes against them, it came off easily enough. Bones… bones that were as large as pewter cauldrons and bones that were as small as fingernails… shards of white and yellow, marbling the soil like fresh snow.

And then… he found the skull, so great his arms burned when he held it up to the distant sunset. The yellowed bone was turned into a kaleidoscope of colour in the face of golden sunlight.

It didn't look like Hagrid. It looked like any other skull, just a bit larger.

There was a certain anonymity in death, Hydrus supposed.

He cradled it in his arms and stood up. His robes were wet with mud and watery ashes, but he could not feel any of it.

_There is only one thing he loved that is still alive. _

He looked far away, across the rolling plains, to the purple-blue dome.

Norberta watched him approach, her red eyes strangely compassionate as her mouths opened and closed, wordless sounds of sympathy. She didn't understand what it was that he held in his burning arms, but must have sensed his… his sorrow, and nudged his leg when he approached.

"He found you," Hydrus told her quietly. For a moment, he was scared that if he spoke too loud, he might cry. He was done crying. Crying was for children, and he hadn't been a child in a thousand years. "He's the reason why…" _You have two heads instead of one, no voice and a forked tail_. The words wouldn't come into his throat. "He's the reason why you're alive."

Norberta's two heads came and breathed hot air onto his arms, and then rubbed their scaly snouts on his robes.

"He should be buried with the one thing he loves, don't you think?" His voice cracked.

Paula gave a soft puff, and greyish smoke came from her nostrils.

He began to dig, in the very centre of her enclosure, running his nails through the hard dirt, feeling the rocks and bugs graze against his flesh. At one point, Norberta joined him, her claw-less feet rummaging through the ground. They made more progress like that, until a hole had formed; two feet deep and a foot wide. A brown worm inched across the wet soil.

His hands were shaking as he lowered the skull into the ground. They shook even more as he piled the dirt back on top.

Norberta gave a spurt of golden flames to seal the top when they were done.

Night had fallen when they finished, the sky filled with silver stars, and faraway, a comet's icy blue tail streaked against a black curtain.

He felt horribly numb - and some other emotion, something he couldn't quite understand - as he rubbed Norberta's heads and stood up. His knees were sore, his arms were sore and his back was sore and his neck burned.

"He gave you to me," Hydrus found himself saying. "He gave you to me, even though there was nothing in the world that he loved. You were his child. A little girl. He had no choice - but I suppose he did. Keep you, and watch his hut burn down, or give you away and perhaps his home would see another day. It doesn't matter now, does it? His hut burned down, and him with it. Even his stupid dog."

He was laughing now, a sorrowful, bitter laugh that echoed like mad cackles. His eyes were moist, and the world had turned into a blurry blackness. This was the closest he had ever come to crying in a long while.

"I owed him," Hydrus whispered. "I owed him a debt greater than a million gold galleons and instead of repaying it, I have brought him an early grave."

Something nuzzled his hand.

When he left her, the sky seemed to share his sorrow, turned blacker than ink.

Climbing the stairs back to his room, Hydrus Malfoy realized what he was feeling. It was grief. But more than grief.

Regret.

_I could have saved his life, _he found himself thinking. _I could have warned him, at least. He gave me a gift greater than a thousand gold galleons, and all I could do for him was bury his skull._

The feeling burned inside his stomach, a great fire that weighed more than a thousand boulders. For a long moment, he stopped before a window, staring at the silver stars, watching the receding comet.

_He's dead. He's been dead for a month now, and… and nothing will change that. Yet there are people still alive… still alive that I can save._

"Hermione," he whispered into the cool air. Daphne and Draco… were safe in a sort of way. But Hermione… she was not. "I can change that."

His breath misted, turning into a white puff of air, a solemn vow he would hold until the end of his days.

__(O.O)__

Lucius Malfoy rarely came to Hogwarts, and Hydrus only ever saw him during Death Eater meetings - and even then, sometimes he wasn't present.

But now, he was in and out of the large castle once, twice a day, his brow creased, going directly to the dungeons without so much as a greeting to the Dark Lord. Sometimes he requested tea and parchment and quills from the house-elves and spent long hours overnight.

Half a month later, Lord Black climbed the circling steps of the tallest tower in Hogwarts and watched as his ex-father walked through the main doors of the castle. His snowy-white hair was hidden under a thick black hood, his sharp features concealed by a silver-gold mask. Behind him a neat array of Neonates and some Death Eaters fanned out, their black cloaks rippling like dark ink.

Hydrus hadn't been present at the final discussion of who would leave, but he heard of the conversations afterwards from Marik and Darian and the rest of them late at night, when they huddled around a bottle of firewhisky.

"There won't be a battle," Felix had told him, "at least, not a bloody one. Not like…"

He let his voice linger there for a moment. They had all watched the butchering of the muggle-borns, watched as the professors were nailed to the walls.

Sometimes - and that was very rarely - Hydrus had nightmares of that night.

"Your father only wants experienced Neonates to follow him on the field," Darian added when the long silence had passed. "He's asked those that were… were in the battle that night to join him. Some. He doesn't want too many… or else he'll be called a soft-hearted fool for relying on… us."

They snuck careful glances at his reaction, as if worried he might be jealous. Marik wouldn't be going, for the stump of his right thumb prevented him from doing much more than beginner-level magic. He was practicing every day - Hydrus joined him sometimes - but it would be a while before he could instinctively twirl his wrist in the patterns of complex spells.

It was strange how even among them, Hydrus Malfoy was often the most mature. "I'm not envious," he told them. "Do you know the exact building - or place where the Order will meet Scrimgeour?"

Felix fiddled with his wand. One month past, he had killed a member of that very Order with the long, polished stick. In a fortnight, he may need to do the same thing once more. Hydrus could tell that the thought brought him no joy. "A small cottage, in the fringes of Godric's Hollow, the summertime residence of some member of their Order… does it matter?"

His voice had developed a strangely aggressive tone.

Hydrus knew he ought to stop asking - some part of him remembered the fear and grief he had felt after taking his first few lives - but somehow he felt a feeling of… of doom in his stomach that rumbled a warning.

"How many Death Eaters?" he found himself asking.

Goren answered. His dark hair was a watery tumble that fell just past his shoulders, easing the sharp lines of his face, but not the rough rasp of his voice. "Five. With the… the fifteen of… us it should be… easy to… Lucius told us that."

They excused themselves after that, not that he could blame them.

_I bring nothing but despair with me as I go. Felix, Darian, Urylid and Goren - how many will come back alive?_

Only Marik stayed, his bronze hair catching the silver moonlight that filtered through the window. He fingered what remained of his right thumb. "Your father is a careful man," he said. "And the Order is in no position to pose any real threat. In a fortnight, the Minister of Magic will be replaced with some puppet under the Imperius Curse, and Lord Voldemort will have full control of Great Britain."

He couldn't help but feel as if something was wrong… all of it was too easy.

Wormtail - of course, it had been Wormtail - had stolen a written version of the address to the cottage from Kingsley Shacklebolt, delivering the paper with fidgeting hands. Twenty wizards would fall on the few members of the Order and whoever was there with the Minister. Should they prevail, the few members in the Ministry still faithful to the integrity of their government would fall.

In one night, they would be snuffed out, and then Lord Voldemort would turn his eyes south, to their neighbours in Europe.

That had been a fortnight's past.

Now, Hydrus Malfoy couldn't help but feel that something was so very wrong.

One by one, the Death Eaters disapparated at the fringes of school property, and with them, the Neonates went. Soon, there was no more than the sound of the whistling wind, blowing through the cracks of the thick chunks of stone that built Hogwarts.

The sun had just barely set when they left, the sky making its slow way to a dark blue when Quirinus Quirrell found him. His head was as smooth as a bird's egg and just as round. "There is no reason to fear for your father's safety. Come, the Dark Lord requests your presence."

He led him to his bedroom, where he urged Hydrus to change into formal attire and brush his unruly tangle of dark hair. The robes were already there, waiting for him: black Acromantula stitched with purple silk, a fearsome crow on the breast. Boots, silky white gloves and the cursed circlet.

Someone must have oiled it recently, for it shone like liquid gold.

Hydrus was tempted to throw the thing out the window. He let it sit on the velvet cushion, with the white gloves that he was in no mood of wearing.

If Quirinus Quirrell noted the distinct lack of his silver-bronze circlet, he did not show it. Hydrus had stopped wearing the twine of precious metal - he could not say why. Perhaps it was the knowledge that he did not care anymore.

Ghosts of his ancestors, who might have witnessed the horrible kin-slaying could do him no harm - they were dead and he was not, and so it did not matter what they thought of him. He had taken many lives by now, and try as he might, no sorrow came into his mind when he thought of them.

The Dark Lord had cleaned the Great Hall within a week of their stay; magicking the large boulders and rocks back into place with the swish of his wand. Now, the enchanted ceiling was no more. In its place was a smooth surface, domed as if they sat in a great sphere.

Hydrus remembered the first time had been inside of Hogwarts - hearing the loud, nasally voice of Hermione Granger he had once loathed. The floating candles were gone as well, though they appeared on the tables instead, long steady rows of them, as tall as wands, dripping with hot wax.

A sombre hush draped the room, a sort of darkness that shrouded the Great Hall.

Lord Voldemort sat, his dark robes neat and tidy as they draped his sturdy frame. At his feet, Nagini slithered, her pink tongue darting in and out of her mouth. "Take a seat my water snake," the Dark Lord beckoned, his voice as warm as it would ever be. He seemed to be in a strangely good mood tonight, though Hydrus supposed the reason would be obvious enough.

The benches that would normally have run the length of the long wooden tables were absent tonight. In their place were puffy velvet chairs with wooden backs, two hundred of them, lining the tables. There were three; the centre for the Inner Circle, a small spot in the sea of Neonates who crowded the adjacent ones.

All the Death Eaters were present, along with wives who might be affiliated with them. The Dark Lord was seated at the High Table, on a throne of blackwood and obsidian. Upon his beckoning, Hydrus took a seat to his left. He could feel Narcissa's eye watching him, though he dared not meet hers. They would be filled with worry and fear, he knew, a swirl of pale grey like morning fog, the terrified eyes of a mother who had lost a child.

_She has lost a son, _Hydrus thought, _and another is being held hostage by the very man she serves. Tonight, she may lose her husband as well._

Fate was a cruel thing, he decided.

No masks were worn tonight, the meaning as clear as anyone might have guessed. They would be family tonight, and the victory that Lucius would win would be celebrated by them all, to mark the Dark Lord's second major victory and the first country he would take.

_Assuming he succeeds._

Light snacks were placed across the table: goblets of pumpkin juice and whisky, fresh berries and treacle tart, some cookies and crumpets, pots of precious china filled with tea, scones, cheesy slices of bread… they smelled wonderful, but Hydrus could not quell the queasiness he felt in his stomach and so left them alone.

It seemed, no one had much of an appetite.

On either of the side tables were the Neonates, a stark contrast to the older and brooding Death Eaters. Hydrus saw Marik and gave him a slight smile of acknowledgement.

The stench of corpses still lingered in the room, and Albus Dumbledore hung limply from the ceiling, his robes hanging on his thin corpse like dead leaves. Tufts of silver hair fell from his great beard, but all of it disappeared after it fell more than two feet; a magical barrier of some sort did the trick, vanishing them to wherever - it did not matter. Hydrus was thankful for its existence. The Headmaster's chin was almost fully visible now and he shuddered to think just how much more awkward meals would become if they all found grey hairs in their porridge.

McGonagall's rotting body had been taken down three weeks past when somehow, maggots had found their way into the Great Hall and eaten all the flesh off her bones. Another week before that, Flitwick's meagre, shrivelled corpse had been burned in the Great Hall at the Dark Lord's command. The only cadavers to remain were new and fresh and still ripe in the stages of decomposition.

They were the prisoners kept in the dungeons. Food was scarce - or rather, the Dark Lord did not want to waste any of it on those who did not swear fealty to his side - and so, one life was taken every day, and almost sixty had been nailed to the walls at one point or another.

The earliest had been burned or chopped and fed to their peers kept in cells. Still, over twenty hung on the walls, the freshest bleeding red blood from the deep gouges incised in his throat.

They smelled of an inhuman concoction of overripe cheese and old socks - of food gone foul and things a thousand times worse. Once, Hydrus remembered having vomited as he tried to eat his meals. But that had been over a month past, and since then, the scent had become ingrained in him, as normal as breathing.

He could tell the Neonates felt the discomfort.

Marik didn't let it show - he might have even been condition to it by now - but others; a girl with brown hair - many girls, many more than boys - were sniffing their noses awkwardly and looking at their hands and rubbing their nostrils as if the scent of living flesh could erase that of the dead.

Hydrus wondered if some had a realization tonight. He wondered if some of the Neonates, as naive and as innocent as a newborn child, realized what it was exactly they were furthering.

Bringing them here tonight, showing them - all of them - the full extent of the atrocities the Death Eaters committed was a careful gamble. If Lucius Malfoy prevailed, then the Neonates would have no choice but to stay on the winning side. If he lost, or got captured or fell prey to a trap, then the Neonates would start deserting in the dozens.

They were sane, as Lord Voldemort described it. They would be willing to serve, so long as the benefits outweighed the losses. How far some would draw the line of servitude, Hydrus did not know. Some may be as loyal as the ex-inmates from Azkaban, others might be looking for the thrill of pureblood supremacy. Those would fight the Aurors and kill if they must but would stop before snuffing out the life of an innocent child.

_And if Lucius Malfoy doesn't come back by the night's end, then they will leave him - some, at least, when they have seen the horrible things the Dark Lord does._

The freshest corpse was a boy of fourteen, randomly chosen from those in the dungeons. His sandy blond hair had been as vibrant as a sun before death had doused the golden sheen. He hung motionless, and might have swung, had there been wind.

_The Dark Lord hammers corpses onto walls to please the Death Eaters, _Hydrus Malfoy thought to himself. His words sounded false in his ears. _He's a good man. With the best intentions at heart. _

Yet the scenes kept playing before his mind: the slaughter of the muggle-borns, the new child brought to the Great Hall every morning…

The house-elves wiped away the pool of blood that formed after their death, but Hydrus thought he could still see a faint puddle of red that seemed to cover the entirety of the floor, burning as bright as the sun. He told himself they meant nothing to him, but could not help but think that the girl Bellatrix Lestrange tore apart yesterday looked an awful lot like Hermione.

Her hair had been the colour of burnished gold - just like his sweet friend - and she could not have been older than thirteen and woefully innocent despite the horrors she had experienced. As Rowle dragged her from the dungeons, Hydrus could hear her soft voice, asking all sorts of questions about her family. "Is there anything I can do to help them?" she had asked, her voice as delicate as a moonflower. "You won't hurt them, right? I'll do anything. Please, sir."

Her pleading had lasted for long minutes, and came to a chilling end when Bellatrix had run her knife through the girl's stomach.

That one was the worst.

As she died, her eyes had bulged in their sockets, running around the room in a crazed flurry, trying desperately to seek a friendly face. For a moment, their eyes had met, and a wordless cry for help graced her lips.

_I couldn't help her, _Hydrus Malfoy thought. _The price for salvation is death. What is her life to Draco's smile? What is her life to Daphne's laugh? What is her life to Hermione's voice, reciting Hogwarts: A History? _

At that moment, Hydrus realized that Hermione Granger's parents were muggles. He felt his stomach knot and bile creep up his throat.

_They're going to die as well. Will she thank me for it?_

The answer was so obvious he wanted to cry.

He almost did, but at that moment the Dark Lord stood, and all the voices quieted. Tonight, he seemed more of a god than human.

His dark robes were tendrils of smoke, billowing across his pale grey skin like the fumes from a bonfire, forever shifting and curling, like ripples of water on a lake. A cloak streamed from his shoulders, black like nightmares, so black light seemed to bend around it. When he spoke, it had an ethereal quality to it, as if angels had blessed his voice with charm and elegance.

_Not angels, _Hydrus thought. With his swirling, demonic robes, the Dark Lord was the devil, come here tonight with no horns but the same malevolence.

"Long have we waited for this day," Lord Voldemort announced. A crown might have stretched from one brow to the other, but he did not need one; his every action demarcated him as a king. Gods might have bowed before him tonight. "The Ministry will be quick to fall, and soon, Great Britain will be under our control. Onwards, of course, lies the rest of Europe and their individual, fickle desires. Some will fall quickly, others will put up a good fight. In the end, what is right will prevail, and the world will cower before us; to kneel before our throne of bones and blood, come to beg our mercy. A toast, to all of my loyal friends."

With great reluctance, Hydrus reached for his goblet. Someone - the house-elves most likely - had filled it with whisky. A swallow was enough to clear the entire thing.

He watched Rodolphus stare at the silver, looking into its depths as if expecting more. The Mongrel gave a great grimace when he tasted the bitter drink. His skin had tanned, but he was still as thin as could be and made an appalling sight to behold. Luckily, the Dark Lord had seated him in the corner, with the yellowed bones of some of the prisoners who had been nailed to the walls.

He liked to lick them and pick off bits of flesh that still clung to the femurs.

The Neonates had not spotted him yet, which was perhaps for the better. Some may very well retch if they saw a middle-aged man, naked, and biting browning flesh from yellowed bones.

As the hours dragged on, the Dark Lord would stand from his throne - carved from blackwood in the shape of little bones and tiny muggles, straining as they held up his weight. When he stood, any voices present in the Great Hall would quiet themselves, and they would bear witness to what their Lord - _their king_ \- had to say.

It was toasts, many and more, a thousand of them, and speeches, where his soft, ethereal voice would project throughout the cavernous space until it sounded as if a thousand mighty voices spoke as one. What he spoke of, it did not matter, but with every speech he made, Hydrus could see the Neonates begin to relax, begin to drink more heavily from the goblets of whisky, begin sup on tarts and break bread, take a handful of berries and a biscuit. They began to speak with one another; whispers at first, and then louder, until their voices rang the bells from the clock tower, clanging as they heralded the arrival of their new king.

Some were still bothered by the corpses, some shrivelled, others as plump as live humans, but they were far and few, and soon, the lull of chatter swept them off their feet. After a few hours, Hydrus supposed, a person could become used to the smell of rotting bodies.

To his side sat Quirinus Quirrell and his bald head, shining like gold. He ate bites of all the foods on the table, but if he enjoyed any, he gave no sign. Taking him for example, Hydrus did his best to swallow some of the biscuits but found them too buttery and sickening. After a bite, he fought the urge to vomit and so left the rest on his golden plate.

How long it was that they sat in the Great Hall, eating food and sharing stories and japes with rotting corpses, Hydrus Malfoy did not know, yet the sky went from a bloody sunset to the deep blue of night.

Still, Lucius Malfoy did not return.

Hours stretched into long speeches, each received by a round of applause from all in the room. The feeling of queasiness persisted in his stomach, and Hydrus knew it had nothing to do with the biscuit.

The eating went on, with new plates being served every so often; the crumpets and tea were replaced with cheese and crackers, and cakes were brought on silver platters, all sorts of colours and flavours, iced with the smokey green snake-and-skull.

Hydrus Malfoy forced himself to try a slice.

The inside was the black of chocolate cake and tasted as nice as cake could taste, but the rumbling in his stomach allowed him to enjoy little of the flavour.

Some more hours passed, and silver stars were bright in the night sky. He remembered, all those weeks ago, as he walked the cold, deserted hallways and looked out the window - why he had done so, Hydrus could not remember, yet what he saw, he did remember, and the image was so clearly ingrained in his mind that for a moment, the wizards and witches in the room were replaced with the silvery blob; a four-legged creature, racing faraway from the castle.

_For a moment, _Hydrus Malfoy thought, _it seemed like a wolf, galloping on its way to freedom._

The thought made his stomach grow thick and heavy.

To take his mind off of his horrible thoughts, he watched the Dark Lord, as he called for one toast after another, and sat on his black throne with little muggles carved into the wood, slaves to him as they held his weight on their meagre shoulders. His face was pale and apathetic, and he did not touch any of the food.

If he seemed worried about Lucius Malfoy's prolonged absence, he gave no sign.

A thousand times Hydrus ran his eyes across the heads of the room. Darian, Urylid, Felix and Goren were gone, with his ex-father to lay a trap for the Order. If what they spoke was true, then they would return before midnight and most likely sooner than that.

With them, Avery had gone, along with Nott and Crabbe and Goyle. None were particularly skilled fighters, but they were submissive and could obey orders that did not come from the Dark Lord, a skill many of the ex-inmates lacked.

_How long does it take to lay a trap? _Hydrus looked out the great glass windows. He had worn a watch the night they had taken Hogwarts but had ordered the house-elves burn the thing afterwards. He wished he had not been so brash. _It took less than two hours to take Hogwarts. Surely it will take the same amount of time - if not shorter - to ambush ten wizards?_

He looked to Quirinus Quirrell, and it seemed they shared the same thoughts.

More than three hours had passed by then, Hydrus was certain of as much. The dishes changed once more, and pastries filled with cream were passed around the table, along with platters of fresh fruit, still ice-cold.

Pitchers of pumpkin juice, untouched for the most part, were replaced every so often, and the bottles of whisky needed to be refilled every five minutes it seemed - though the Neonates were careful to not drink too much. To be drunk before the Dark Lord… an interesting experience that Hydrus would not want to see happen.

From across the room, he caught Marik's eye. His plate was empty, and between them, they shared a glance.

_Too long, _Hydrus thought. _Too, too long._

His stomach clenched like a fist, and he thought that bite of biscuit may come hurling through his mouth.

And then the doors flew open.

Someone - a Neonate it had to be - stumbled through, their bronze mask drenched in blood, clutching as their stomach, their cloak ripped to shreds, hanging like dead leaves from his shoulders.

For a moment, Hydrus thought he had seen wrong. It couldn't be. His breath caught in his throat, and a wordless cry bubbled on his lips. The chatter in the Great Hall seemed to disappear, overtaken by the sudden ringing in Hydrus' ear.

And even then, one by one, even the Neonates stopped speaking, and a deathly silence draped the room. Murmurs, lighter than a summer breeze, were making their way across the Great Hall, filled with worry and rumours and trepidation - until a girl burst into tears.

The Neonate, his robes turning darker and darker with blood, fell to his knees.

No one moved.

Gasps came from his mouth, short and lathered, the sound of a dying animal on the brink of death. "The Ministry," he wheezed. Something came flying from his lips, the colour of yellow and red, splattering to the floor. "They knew… they knew… Lucius… warn… trap…"

His fingers wrenched off what remained of the mutilated mask. Underneath, his skin had been scorched until it stuck to the metallic surface of the bronze. By ripping it off, he had torn off the top layer of his flesh. What remained was red and pink, as disfigured as a burned corpse. Hydrus heard someone retch, and then the sour smell of bile joined the scent of rotting corpses.

"Captured…" the Neonate whispered, his voice faint and fading. "Help… help me…"

For the barest of moments, Hydrus mustered what little remained of his courage and looked up at the Dark Lord's face.

Lines, lines as wide as rivers and as deep as canyons were sculpting their way across Lord Voldemort's grey face. They twisted and turned, as they raped the mind of the Neonate, reliving his last moments alive… checking… seeing… combing through his thoughts until there was nothing but the truth.

The lines on his face mangled and turned and then morphed to rage in moments. "_TRAITOR,"_ he roared, as sudden as a rearing dragon, a jet of golden flames escaping from his mouth. "_TRAITOR. Who in our ranks has betrayed me? Who? WHO? WHO?"_

The Neonates froze. For a long moment, no one dared say a word.

And then, the Dark Lord jabbed his wand. Red eyes had never been more terrifying then, as he leaped to his feet, his heavy blackwood throne knocked to the floor. The God of death was with them tonight, and he needed no crown to proclaim his tyranny. "_CRUCIO, CRUCIO, CRUCIO."_

Faraway - or was it nearby? - someone was screaming, but Hydrus could barely hear them. In his mind, all he could think of was how Patronuses could be used to send messages.

_Quirinus Quirrell knew this was going to happen. _

Lord Black studied the professor's face as he writhed on the floor, his limbs twitching and spasming as if a jolt of electricity had raced through his veins. His features were pale; pale and contorted with pain.

_You knew this was going to happen, _Hydrus thought. _And you let it happen regardless. Why is that?_

Any thoughts he might have had were drowned by a sudden flare of pain that coursed through his fingertips and raced through his hands and to the rest of his body. Agony came upon him, as sudden as a rearing dragon.

He could not remember lying down, but suddenly Hydrus Malfoy was staring at the ceiling, his vision blurred by tears. When he tried to wipe them away, his arms jerked weirdly, and they were assaulted by a burning pain. It was as if he was dreaming, all those years past, when the red eyes would play with him, as a wolf might play with its supper. Only, the red eyes were gone -

_And I'm not dreaming._

_Why does this hurt? _he wanted to cry. Hydrus tried to open his mouth, but only a scream came. _I am fire-resistant. This is nothing to me._

But then he heard the words, chanting like the hymn of a cursed ritual. _CRUCIO, CRUCIO, CRUCIO, _it went_._ And glaring at him with a ferocity unknown to a mere mortal was a pair of crimson eyes on a pale grey face condemning him to death.

_I'm a son to him, in many different ways, _Hydrus thought deliriously as the world turned black. _Yet fathers do not torture their sons._

* * *

**A/N:**

**Look at me writing all these random twists and turns in the story XD**

**It was never gonna be this easy...**

**Special thanks to KingZeRopL for taking the time to review my story!**

**The girl from the previous chapter - Karoline - you might have noticed how she isn't mentioned in this chapter. That's 'cause she was only meant to be this catalyst for the friendship between Hydrus, Felix, Goren, Urylid and Marik. Three of which are currently in Auror custody. Don't worry, pinkie promise she's not a creep, just a person who's very shy.**

**Hydrus' doubt towards Voldemort is going to be a recurring thing, and... yeah nope not gonna say anymore.**

**As to whether or not I'm gonna show the conquest of each country afterwards... you know I'd be lying if I said I knew what's going to happen next. I do my best to outline but outlining isn't fun so I usually write by 'inspiration'. I know where this will end, I'm just not entirely sure how I'll get there. Yikes this might turn out badly. **

**If I were to show the conquests of other countries, it will probably be pretty boring, having to read the same stuff over... and over... and over again. So if it were to happen, it will be quick and smooth, though as it currently is, the Dark Lord is in no position to spread his influence onwards. The main conflict in Part 2 isn't so much Lord Voldemort taking Great Britain, but rather Hydrus and his poop ton of issues. (After that, I kinda don't know where to go)**

**I definitely agree with you on the evil vs. good point - beauty is in the eye of the beholder and so is righteousness. Every villain is the hero of their own story, and... we'll see how this one goes... :)**

**I hope this answered all of your questions (even if they were a bit vague) and I hope to see you guys next week!**

**As always, thanks for reading :)**


	31. Chapter 31

_Pain…_

Hydrus thought he had known pain; the pain of his flames - his flames he had come to love and hate and loathe and treasure - as they crawled across his hands, devouring all they touched, ravaging his palms as they did in his dreams… but this… this was something else entirely.

His limbs had flexed and bent and shrivelled and danced as his mouth opened and a scream - or at least, he thought he had screamed - came from within, so loud he could not hear it. He thought being burned alive had been painful, but this was worse. A thousand times worse, as if the red eyes had set fire to his entire body and stuck a million hot pokers into his skin, to pierce bone as they shot through the other side of his flesh.

Only, Hydrus Malfoy could not feel fire. Heat did not hurt him, and yet… and yet… this one did, raining its burning kisses across his arms and legs, tracing his chest and devouring his face, burning and burning until he swore there was no tomorrow.

How long it was, he could not say, but the world turned grey, then red, then a swirl between the two vivid colours, and then it darkened, as if the fires that crawled across his flesh had somehow burned the world. They turned to dark ashes, and then Hydrus could not tell what was what.

He drifted in the blackness, not quite feeling anything, but faraway, he heard screams; jarring, high-pitched screams that sounded like the trills of dying birds. Or perhaps they were his own, screaming into the blackness of a burned world.

At one point, the shrieks faded, just as the swirl of red-and-grey had, until he floated in a land of dark ashes and smoke, in a place where he could hear no sounds.

_Have I died? _Hydrus thought. He wanted to flex his fingers and bring forth his coppery flames, but he could not feel his arms. He might have cried then, but when the regret and the sadness came, no tears welled in his eyes, and his cheeks stayed dry as a sandy desert. Hydrus wasn't sure if he had a face; if he could not see, did he have eyes? If he could not speak, did he have a mouth?

_What will become of Hermione when I am not there to vouch for her safety? What will they do to Norberta when I am not there to protect her? Will Narcissa grieve for my pale corpse, shrunken and shrivelled as Professor Flitwick's once was? Or will she scoff and declare that I was no more than an adopted son, second to her true-born Draco?_

The questions gnawed at his mind, with the same virulence as the flames, devouring his thoughts and desires until they were nothing more than black ashes, to swirl in the darkness of this terrible world.

The pain continued to torment his limbs, running across his arms and legs, biting his fingers and licking them with salt-stained tongues. A thousand times over Hydrus prayed he would die. A thousand times over, the gods were cruel.

The jets of fire ran across his flesh until slowly, it seemed, they began to lessen, and slowly, slowly, Hydrus could not feel them anymore. He slumbered on in this dark world, with nothing but his thoughts to keep him company.

_I wish I could have saved Hermione, _he found himself thinking. _I could have hidden her at least - in a faraway cottage. Her and her parents. She'll be happy. Happy that her family is safe, happy that she is safe, happy that - that -_

_She'll never be happy, _Hydrus realized. _Not when all the muggles in the world are being butchered by the Dark Lord._

Not for the first time, he wanted to cry. The tears never came, but the sheer hopelessness remained in his heart, as heavy as his silver-bronze circlet might once have been, weighing down on his mind, cursing him for his evil deeds.

_Forgive me, Hermione, Draco, Daphne, _Hydrus wanted to weep. _But when I am done - when the Dark Lord is done, you will never need to fear for your life again. I am saving you. This will all be over. This will all be over… very, very soon…_

The words rang hollow in his mind, and Hydrus Malfoy wanted to set something afire, to smell the scent of burning wood or burning flesh - it did not matter. He wanted to hurt and he wanted to kill and he wanted to destroy all who dared touch his sacred three people.

But only darkness responded, as deep and black as his nightmares.

__(O.O)__

The anger faded with time, and Hydrus Malfoy slumbered in and out of consciousness with only his sorrowful thoughts to keep him company. When finally, whether it was the second or third time he had awoken, Quirinus Quirrell was there with a tray of potions and pursed lips.

He said nothing but tipped the cool surface of a glass vial to Hydrus' lips. Instinct made him drink. It was cool as ice, flowing down his throat sluggishly. He made to push away - nothing could be more unwelcome.

"Drink," Quirinus Quirrell commanded. "Drink and I will answer all your questions.

He raised his hand and batted the potion away. "My father," he managed to gasp through gritted teeth. His throat was painfully dry, and his voice had a thin, reed-like quality to it as if he were choking on air. "Where… ?"

He had thought long and hard as he slumbered in the blackness, thinking of the great, lavish meal and the pitchers of cold pumpkin juice and buttered scones. He thought back to the night, as he had tried to quell his rumbling stomach, for his body knew what his mind did not - something was terribly wrong.

It had gone wrong. All of it.

His father… no, not his father… his ex-father, Lucius Malfoy… was he still alive? Did they kill him? Did they nail him to the wall with rusted spikes as the Dark Lord had done to the professors? Or was he still alive, to exchange his life for that of Albus Dumbledore?

_Lord Voldemort will never do that, _Hydrus found himself thinking. _Any other captive, perhaps, but not him. He is their leader, and without them they are nothing more than a pack of children, playing at war._

And yet, those children had laid a trap - a trap so intricate that even the Dark Lord had fallen into its iron jaws.

Quirinus Quirrell set down the vial. "A captive of the Order, I would presume."

"And of Goren, of Urylid, of Felix, of Darian?"

His voice was quiet. "A letter was sent by the Order the morning after. The contents of which are not mine to divulge. For that, you must ask the Dark Lord himself."

"Where is he?" Hydrus rasped.

"Lord Voldemort spends his time in the library," Quirinus Quirell told Hydrus in his flat, apathetic voice. "Reading, I would presume, and drawing battle plans."

He sat up before the man could finish. The world spun on an axis, fluttering through the air as if pushed by a violent gust of wind. Hydrus raised a hand to his temple and tried to massage away the pain. "Take me to him."

"Lord Voldemort is not in the best of states -" Quirinus Quirrell began.

Hydrus flexed his hand and felt a spasm of pain twitch through his muscle. So it had been him. The pain in his arms, that had raced to his legs and burned away his flesh as he dreamed - it was the Dark Lord's work. Truly.

Long ago, Hydrus had heard whispers of this great Dark Lord - long before he had entered his service. They whispered that Lord Voldemort had gone insane - he was a mad, deranged wizard; powerful, but psychotic; great in a way only true evil could be.

_I believed them once. But then he told me… he told me he was going to save wizardkind - he was going to save _all of us_. The Dark Lord is neither mad nor insane. He once told me… what was it?_

"_A sane man can only be called sane if they are willing to draw a line between loyalty and life."_

_If what he says is true, then he will draw a line one day, and that will prove to the world that he has never been evil. He has never been insane or deranged or delirious._

Yet Hydrus kept flexing his hand, feeling the echoes of pain race along his arm. _He doted on me, as a father might treat a son. The Dark Lord would never have harmed me. _"Was it the Cruciatus?"

The response was curt. "Yes."

"How many others?"

Quirinus Quirrell sat down on the great velvet armchair beside his bed. Now that Hydrus was at eye-level with him, he could see a patchwork of wrinkles that marbled his face, as if he had aged ten years since the last time he had seen him. "The Death Eaters sitting at the High Table. Bellatrix, her brother, her… husband. Some more… those who hid or ran were not harmed… some Neonates who had not fled by then… your friend, the one without a thumb -"

"Marik?" his voice came out strangely astonished.

"Him. Some others. Since then three days have passed, and only a handful of Neonates have returned to the castle, all of which have gathered their belongings and left."

Hydrus did not think he heard Quirinus Quirrell correctly. "They left? But - but they still serve the Dark Lord, do they not?"

For a long moment, the man did not respond. "The specifics of this situation or not mine to divulge. Your mother is distraught. She has begged the Dark Lord for permission to bring you back to Malfoy Manor, but he has refused her request. If there is anyone you must see, I would suggest you begin with her."

No, he wouldn't be able to deal with Narcissa, a blubbering mess of tears and snot, in mourning over the loss of her husband. Instead, his mind fluttered to another thing - something he had spent so very long wondering about.

"What's your Patronus?" he asked Quirinus Quirrell.

The man looked at him carefully. "The only Death Eater who can cast that charm is Severus Snape -"

"Patronuses can be used to send messages," Hydrus said, the wheels of his mind rolling faster and faster as he spoke. "Did you or did you not tell the Order about the Dark Lord's plans?"

"I am fully loyal to his cause. What you saw might not have been a Patronus -"

"_It was._"

"You're in no fit state to get riled up like that, Hydrus. Sit back down."

He stared at the professor for a long, long moment, thinking back to Hermione and how… how he had spared her, in a way.

_But not truly, _something in his mind protested. _She would have been spared from that slaughter regardless. The Dark Lord gave you his word._

His word…

The same person who had cursed him with the Cruciatus? The same person who had ordered the execution of all the muggle-borns?

The hope that had flared in his chest went away as suddenly as that, and the suspicion in his mind was replaced with a profound sense of foreboding. The headache was beginning to recede, but a new sort of pain entrapped him; a tight, squeezing sensation that grappled at his innards and wrung them like a wet sponge. "If I visit him… will… do you… do you think he'll curse me?" He didn't wait for a response. "I must go see the Dark Lord. Help me, Quirinus Quirrell. Help me to the library."

His pale eyes were the colour of seafoam. They looked at Hydrus Malfoy as if he had lost his wits, and perhaps he had.

"Help me," Lord Black insisted. He swung a shaky leg off the top of his bed. "I must go to see him."

It was a long way to the library, and half a hundred times, Hydrus thought he might collapse or pass out from his headache, but he powered through. Quirinus Quirrell pushed open the doors for him and gave a bow before he left.

The Dark Lord had changed.

Somehow, Hydrus knew. He looked no different than the last time Hydrus Malfoy saw him… but something - something was terribly off.

Lord Voldemort sat on a throne of velvet cushions, his elbows lying on carved wooden armrests, a tall, tall pile of tomes lying on the table beside him. His skin was as pale grey as Hydrus remembered, mottled with darker tones as if he were made of chips of silver and slate, mixed together until something inhuman had formed; beautiful as a sunrise with the horrification of hell's worst demon. When Hydrus entered the room, he looked up, and immediately Lord Black what had changed.

The Dark Lord's eyes were red like blood and red like fire, but they shone with a glint of - of something. As if he had gone a thousand years without seeing a single person. As if he had been kept in isolation for a million days. As if… as if…

Hydrus thought the swirl looked rather like the Mongrel's eyes - the sort of passionate sheen that developed whenever the mutt stared into golden fires. Entranced, as if the flames were his god, the black smoke his master and the grey ashes his wife. Only, the beast had no god, and he had no wife, though Hydrus Malfoy supposed Lord Voldemort was his god in many ways.

_The god of death, _he thought.

"The link grows stronger," the Dark Lord told him, his voice airy and distant as if he spoke through fog and smoke. "I can almost feel you… come closer, my water snake." His fingers were ice-cold when they brushed over his scar. "Three days you slumbered in your bed, and for three days… do you know what has happened? Your father has been captured, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Avery… a fifth of my Inner Circle. How -? How did this happen? I checked… a thousand times I raped that werewolf's mind… to find nothing. How? I do not understand."

For a moment, the god of death was not quite godly. He slumped on his throne of cushions, and a long, drawn-out sigh escaped from his mouth.

"My Lord," Hydrus said carefully. His head was pounding painfully, and it took him a moment to gather his thoughts. "Has there been word of… of Lucius? Or from the Order?"

Lord Voldemort seemed almost exhausted as he fetched a scroll on the table, his movements slow and shaky. He unravelled the message, but his eyes did not move. Most likely, the man had memorized the words a thousandfold. His words were weary. "Kingsley Shacklebolt… he has the audacity to want to exchange his precious Headmaster for the five Death Eaters. The werewolf, for the remaining Neonates. Fancy words, to be written on fancy parchment. We will never get any of them back, not unless we storm their stronghold… the location of which we do not know."

For a long moment, silence lingered in the room, thicker than the Dreamless Sleep Potion Hydrus had taken to drinking every night. The realization came upon him slowly, crawling across his thoughts, armoured with disbelief, telling a tale Lord Black dare not believe. Yet slowly, the nimble fingers of his mind picked apart the plate and found the truth.

"Are we…" he stopped. "Are we losing?"

At those words, the Dark Lord seemed to jerk alive. His back straightened, and a glow came from his skin; the bright silver of moonlight. "_No,"_ came his voice, as loud and powerful as a gust of wind. "No - _no of course we have not LOST._ Are you mad? A traitor crawls our ranks… and you _dare _have the audacity to name me vanquished? I - _I _am the _DARK LORD. _I do not _fall. _I do not _fail._"

His red eyes were aswirl, bright with a fury Hydrus Malfoy had never before seen. More horrifying than the night he had tortured Avery until the man had broken his ankle, worse than the time… the time - he could think of no more occasions where Lord Voldemort had lost his cool.

_Failure has changed him, _Hydrus found himself thinking, unbidden.

_A treasonous thought, _came another voice, just as quickly. _He is your Lord, and your king, and you must make him your god as well, just as the Mongrel has._

Yet what could he say to the Dark Lord, whose eyes shone like pits of magma, burning bright with the fury of a thousand stars? "Of - of course, my Lord," Hydrus heard himself stutter, in a strange voice, almost as apathetic as Quirinus Quirrell, though without any of the confidence.

"'_Of course, my Lord?'" _he repeated, growing louder with every word. "Is that defiance I hear? I raised you, from a child - from an eleven-year-old boy and _this _is how you mean to repay me? With _insolence?_ With _insubordination? _With - with _MUTINY?"_

His hands grappled the wooden armrests so tight his knuckles might have turned white if blood flowed through his veins. An aura - the aura of the god of death - surrounded him, rippling the winds into a churning fury. Or was it his heart?

Hydrus found himself taking a hasty step backwards, his back coming close to a bookshelf laden with old tomes. "Never, my Lord."

"_MY LORD?" _he roared, his voice turned into the growl of a faraway dragon, as loud as the fearful cries of burning corpses. "_I AM YOUR MASTER. I AM - I AM YOUR SOVEREIGN." _For a moment, the great Dark Lord paused and took a breath. His thin, grey fingers unclenched. "There is a traitor in our ranks, Hydrus Malfoy. Who he is, I do not know. Ten Death Eaters were aware of my intentions. Ten… and you." His voice had lowered suddenly, and a dangerous glint came alive in his eyes. He jabbed his wand. "_Legilimens."_

It felt as if something were ramming into his mind with the force of a thousand stone bricks, tearing through his memory, smashing his consciousness, until only his thoughts remained.

He remembered, a lifetime ago, as he sat in St. Mungo's and had that witch - what was her name? He couldn't remember. But the feeling of having his mind invaded… it had never been this painful.

The Cruciatus had left him in a vegetable state for three days, but having his mind ripped apart by the Dark Lord hurt a thousand times worse. The headache that had been brewing in the back of his neck for the past hour came back to him vividly, as stark as a sharpened quarrel, ripping through his brain until only desolation remained.

He could feel memories whizz by; Norberta, breathing jets of golden flames; Hermione and him, sitting in the library; Draco getting bitten by one of the albino peacocks that resided in Malfoy Manor; the glimmer of a pale sunset as he and Daphne walked the grounds of Hogwarts… on and on they went, until they were all wrenched apart. The Dark Lord came alive in his mind as a whisper of black-grey smoke, tearing through his secrets, feeling his deepest memories… until it stopped.

A pair of red eyes, swirled with bronze and dark purple, bright as fire, loomed before Lord Voldemort. No matter what the swirl of gas did, it could not pass beyond the eyes.

For how long they danced in that precarious stalemate, Hydrus did not know, but he could feel the Dark Lord's rage, as volatile as a kettle of hot soup, threatening to explode.

And suddenly - the black mist was gone, and they were back in the library and the Dark Lord hadn't sheathed his wand. "Who has taught you Occlumency?" he demanded, the tip of his wand pointing in between Hydrus' eyes. "Was it Quirinus? Answer me, Hydrus Malfoy. _Who taught you Occlumency?"_

Fear turned his thoughts into a mess of muddled, murky water, flowing from his fingers, refusing to construct themselves into a coherent sentence. "I - I… no - no one…"

"_LIES,_" the Dark Lord screeched.

"I swear to you… my… my Lord -"

"Then what were those eyes? They stopped me, Hydrus Malfoy. What sorcery lies inside your brain, so intricately woven that even I cannot break through?" The Dark Lord clasped his thin, grey fingers around his water snake's temple and pressed his cold, cold digits into soft flesh. "They look at me, even now. They are hiding something. What are you hiding, Hydrus Malfoy? _Tell me, Hydrus Malfoy. TELL YOUR KING WHAT YOU HIDE. TELL HIM."_

His icy fingers helped numb his headache, but the Dark Lord came so close that Hydrus' face could almost touch the two slits marking Lord Voldemort's nose. It made it particularly hard to form a coherent thought in his mind. "I… I have nothing to hide…"

The Dark Lord jerked backwards. "No." His voice had changed entirely, as if this were a pleasant discussion about the weather. "No." He laughed, and his lips quirked upwards. It did not suit his pale grey face or bright red eyes in the slightest. "Of course not. You are not the traitor. Go, my water snake. And be present for dinner tonight in the Great Hall at half-past seven."

His hand was almost gentle as he pushed against the small of Hydrus' back and led him out the library. The door swung shut, and for a moment, he almost forgot about the raging headache inside of his mind and the soreness in his legs.

__(O.O)__

Quirinus Quirrell wasn't there when Hydrus left the library, but he found Marik easily enough, inside his room, on the seventh floor of the castle, the farthest one could be from any of the hostages or captives.

His breath stank faintly of whisky, a brief whiff of fermented grains and sour lemon. When he saw Hydrus, his blue eyes lit up and a tired smile stretched across his wan face. "It's good to see you awake and walking."

He sat him down on a chair and poured them both a large serving of pumpkin juice. "No whisky," Marik insisted when he saw Hydrus' face. "You need to stop drinking that stuff."

"But -"

"Look around you," Marik snapped. "Felix, Goren, Urylid and Darian will probably never see the light of day again. Your father - fine - _Lucius Malfoy_, and the other four Death Eaters are probably being juiced for everything they ever knew about the Dark Lord. Any secrets we might have had will be good and gone. The Inner Circle is a mess of sadistic half-insane thirty-year-olds, and the Neonates are hiding all across the continent, doing their best to stay alive. Which hasn't been enough. You need to be sober, Hydrus."

He gave Marik a withering glare. His own breath stank of wine and alcohol. Bloody hypocrite.

Yet when his friend spoke, he did listen, for he had much to say. Marik told him what the Dark Lord did not. The Order and the British Ministry had openly declared for their alliance; the Ministry of Germany had arrested thirteen Neonates, the most of any country, and had openly declared for Rufus Scrimgeour; the French were rallying their people, sending their Aurors to aid the cause. Many more countries had taken up wands against the Dark Lord, and across the continent, the tale of Lord Voldemort and his chilling defeat in Godric's Hollow spread like fiendfyre.

"But the rumours and blackmail," Hydrus said, and for a moment, his brain refused to listen to the numbers Marik recited. It couldn't be. They had been winning only three days' past. "The Dark Lord - all of those letters we - he - sent out -"

"Have been voided now. When everyone is tainted, no one is below the rest. The countries have ignored the threats to focus on the greater one… which is us." Marik ran his left hand through his bronze hair. "Have you gone to see the Dark Lord?"

_Yes, _Hydrus wanted to say, _and failure has reduced him to an insecure, half-insane sadistic tyrant. _

But the words would not form in his throat. For a moment - and not for the first time - Hydrus thought back to the reddish eyes, swirled with bronze and dark purple, that loomed in his mind, so powerful that even the Dark Lord could not thwart. Once, a thousand years' past, they had been bright crimson, the colour of a raging fire, filled with vengeance and hunger, lusting for the Philosopher's Stone.

Not for the first time, Hydrus wondered what the eyes wanted with a rock the colour of ripe blood, as jagged as a knife.

_The same reason why Lord Voldemort wanted the Stone. _

A thousand times over, he had wondered what those eyes were - were they his demons, come to curse him? A physical manifestation of his deepest insecurities? The one thing that powered his flames?

Only, that had been in the past. Now, Hydrus Malfoy cherished the fire with a strange tenderness alien to his childhood. No, the red eyes were more than that. A sort of sorcery that made no sense…

_The Dark Lord has eyes just as bright…_

His fingers came crawling up his face, to settle warily upon his forehead, just above his left eye. They felt the scar, a jagged incision upon his flesh.

_I dreamed of him. A thousand times - it was him. But… it was me. I sat on that throne of cushion in the Black family library, flipping through thick texts. It was him, but it was me, and…_

A sudden thought came to him, unbidden, but it made his bowels run cold.

Could they be… could they be the same person?

"It went badly, then," Marik said. His eyes studied the strange look on Hydrus' face. "I should have guessed." He sighed. "Noberta has been especially violent with you gone. The rats that are released in her enclosure… she won't eat them. I tried to placate her, but, well, she tried to set me on fire." A wan grin came to his face. "She'll be happy to know you're up and about."

Hydrus couldn't hear him - not over his panicked thoughts. A part of him - maybe not all, but a part for sure - was of the Dark Lord. Was it the part that became more and more numb as he continued to kill? Or was it the part that bubbled with anger; a pot of boiling soup waiting to explode? Ten years from now, would he be like the Dark Lord? Waging war on a government, slaughtering young girls and boys that had the misfortune of being born to muggles? Or would he curse his loyalist followers, flicking his wand and inflicting a barrage of ever-lasting agony?

_Lord Voldemort never took joy in his actions, _Hydrus reminded himself sharply. _And in that, you are like him._

And yet, his mind kept remembering his fearsome red eyes, brimming with anger as they loomed before his face, as he lay writhing on the floor, jerking and twisting as if someone had strung invisible twine around his joints.

"I - yes," Hydrus said, his voice sounding eerily distant. "I have to go."

Marik nodded, slumped on a cushioned chair, pale fingers cradling his glass of pumpkin juice. His room was a mess, Hydrus realized. Robes and trousers lay scattered wherever they pleased, and stained glass cups sat on tables and desks and even on the floor. Now that he paid more attention to it, the air - not only Marik's breath - smelled of sour oats and barley, of whisky and something gone stale. Broken quills dotted his carpet, and splatters of ink flew across yellowed parchment.

Once, he remembered, his room had been pristine and well kept. Now...

_We're losing, _Hydrus thought, abruptly jerked to the present. _We're losing, and that threat hangs over us all, looming over our heads, darker than the Dementors. But… we are not done… and yet… we're _losing_. And… and what will happen if we lose?_

He left the room in a drunken stupor as if the pumpkin juice had been spiked with alcohol. From there on, with the same headache pounding in the back of his head, Hydrus Malfoy wandered the halls before arriving at his bedroom. Some part of him longed to see Norberta once more, and stroke her hard scales, and another wished to see Hermione hidden in a faraway cottage. Perhaps even across the ocean, in North America.

Instead, he rubbed his eyes and called for a house-elf.

Hydrus Malfoy was in no fit state to do magic so soon after waking up from his extended, bed-ridden stay, but he insisted on the lesson. The room was the same one as always, with great gaping windows and plenty of space for spells, a table covered in scrolls of parchment and bottles of ink and enough books to last a lifetime.

Quirinus Quirrell watched him hobble into the room with pale eyes and set down his quill and parchment. "You are in no fit state -"

"I know," Hydrus told him. Even if he had not spent three days in a coma, he didn't think he could find it in himself to focus. His mind was alight with a thousand different emotions and worries and concerns that even forcing the words through his mouth had been a task that made his temples flare with pain.

If what Quirinus Quirrell said was true, would he ever see Urylid, Goren, Felix or Darian ever again? Would he be able to meet his father's silver eyes once more? A thousand questions bounced through his thoughts, each as frenzied as the next.

"You saw the Dark Lord just now," Quirinus Quirrell told him lightly. "He is in no state to wage war."

"That can't be," Hydrus heard himself say in a panicked voice. "He still has spies and informers and enough wands to attack and raid - and - and -"

"Hydrus," Quirinus Quirrell said, his voice impossibly soft. "The members of the Order questioned Lucius and Avery and Crabbe and Goyle. They know who the Neonates are. Just yesterday fifty were arrested across twelve different countries for treason, and the day before another fifteen were apprehended. The remaining are now scattered across Europe, in hiding. Some have reported their current status, but to cross a country when all governments are actively searching for you… that is difficult." He paused. "We have no more spies, Hydrus."

It was a moment before he understood what Quirinus Quirrell told him. The realization came crashing upon his mind, as brutal as the Dark Lord's Legilimency attack.

"Then - then how do we go forward? What can we do? Remus Lupin - is he still alive? He knows the inner workings of the Order - must have -"

"The werewolf is still alive. The Dark Lord has rammed into his consciousness a thousand times over and has found nothing but blankness. I suspect he has hidden his memories somehow… perhaps in a mental stronghold of some sort, using magic that is unknown to us."

"But -"

Quirinus Quirrell silenced him with one look. "There is one thing you must know. Now that the Order has questioned the Death Eaters thoroughly, they are now aware that you have declared for the Dark Lord, if not openly. Not that there is much of a difference. Your lands have been seized in France, and a summer cottage in Spain has been levelled to the ground."

Hydrus rubbed his temples. If the world knew who he had declared for… then Hermione… what… what would she think of him? If she knew of the vile atrocities he had been forced to commit… would she still trust as she did?

_No, of course not, you bloody idiot._

A pang of sadness raced through his chest, cold like ice, with the force of a blunted knife.

_This has always been to keep her alive. So long as she lives - her and Draco and Daphne - beyond the war, then my goal has been accomplished and I may die in peace._

"I want to move her," Hydrus heard himself say, his voice strangely confident.

"Hermione?"

He met Quirinus Quirrell's eyes. "Yes."

"The Dark Lord must be consulted before you try anything -"

"I will," Hydrus promised him. He looked down at his wrinkled robes. A fresh pair would be waiting in his room, along with some courage, he hoped. The Dark Lord had changed. A week past, Hydrus was certain he would not have hesitated before giving his blessing.

_Failure changes people, _he thought as he thanked Quirinus Quirrell for his wisdom and left the room, _distorting their mind until nothing but suspicion remains, as cold as ice._

He donned his Acromantula silk robes just as the sun dipped below the horizon. A chill wind swept through the castle, and the watery fabric did little to stop the cold. Hydrus flexed his hands.

He had not dared try it, for fear of - of many things. That his flames might have left him, or that…

_They might be darker. Turned black like ink._

They came to life, but… a strange purple colour lingered on his hands, mixed with strands of copper and dark red as if it were a bruise - a bruise-coloured fire. The hue seemed oddly familiar until he thought of the eyes.

The eyes that had once plagued his nightmares, that had once cursed him with burning hands. The ones that used to be bright red; red as fire, red as fury and red as blood.

They did little to warm him in this cold hallway.

When he pushed open the doors to the Great Hall, Hydrus found no one inside, but one. He sat on his throne of blackwood and obsidian, his invisible crown hugging his brow, thin, grey fingers clasped together, black robes swirling at his side like wisps of smoke.

Hydrus did not know what compelled him to do so, but he knelt, sinking to the floor on one knee.

"Rise," came the Dark Lord's voice, as warm as soft butter. "Perhaps I should decree that all my Death Eaters kneel. Come, sit, my water snake. The house-elves have prepared a scrumptious meal for you and me, and we must not let it grow cold."

Only them?

The Great Hall had never seemed greater then, as Hydrus sat down on the left-hand side of Lord Voldemort, in a barren room filled with rotting corpses and one old man, hanging from the ceiling.

_And either must die at the hand of the other, _Albus Dumbledore whispered in his frail, shrunken voice, as soft as the wind. _For neither can live while the other survives._

"He's not a pretty bit of decoration, I know," the Dark Lord said conversationally, as the first course was served. "But everyone must play their games, and no sacrifice is too great."

_You once said that a man can only be called sane if they are willing to draw a line between life and loyalty._

Instead, Hydrus speared a scallop and did his best to swallow the queer taste of seafood. The Dark Lord did most of the talking, and Hydrus was more than happy to listen.

"Twelve countries have declared their support for Great Britain," he began, "meaning that we must face thirteen sovereign nations with fifteen Death Eaters, four hundred werewolves, what little bit of Neonates we can scrape together and a thousand Dementors." A bitter laugh came to his throat. "Perhaps with our collective gold, it is possible to buy more wands as we have with the Neonates… but now the Ministry is under full alert. Perhaps I should never have changed tactics. Bloodshed and violence is the only true way to end a war. I should not have sat, idle, listening to the chirps and murmurs of my spies. I should have been preparing assaults, dealing blows, claiming lives… When we are done, I will write to Fenrir Greyback. Too long we have spent waiting like the bloody politicians I mean to overthrow. It is time that the werewolves were released."

His stomach dropped. Hermione's parents were muggles. They would be victims of the werewolves' heartless killings.

_I have no care for them, but Hermione can hardly live without them, can she?_

"My Lord?" Hydrus said, for the first time during their meal. His voice came out shy and timid.

"Well go on."

"If I might ask… that… Hermione -"

His features stilled, and a cold, harsh voice came from his lips. "So it is true."

"You…" Hydrus found that his voice had failed him. A hoarse, gasping sound came from his lips, and his bowels were a mess of roiling acid. "You… gave me your word…"

The Dark Lord stood abruptly. His robes seemed to swirl as his dark red became slits of fire. "There is a traitor in my ranks, and you _DARE _speak of that mudblood's life? Perhaps… your friend has made you… _sympathetic_ to their movement. Perhaps the time you have spent with that little whore has made you soft and weak. Perhaps you were always _soft _and _weak._

"Only know this, Hydrus Malfoy. Your brother is in my custody, and so is that Greengrass bitch. Lift _one_ single finger against my reign, and I will serve their limbs to you, one by one, mixed into your Shepherd's Pie, stirred with your salads, your pumpkin juice befouled with their blood… until everything you eat has been tainted by their flesh."

The Dark Lord looked at him, cold and ruthless, as calm as still waters on a cloudless night. There was no shame to his face, and when he sat back down on his throne of blackwood and obsidian, he clapped his hands together.

And suddenly, Draco Malfoy appeared, as pale as fresh parchment, thinner than a reed. He crumpled to his knees as if a gale of wind had blown him to submission. His robes were ripped and soiled and smelled of feces, and as he fell, a great ripping sound was heard; a hole had been torn, stretching from collarbone to hips.

"Starvation does not become a pureblood of noble blood," Lord Voldemort said, running his long, thin fingers through Draco Malfoy's hair. Time and dust had worked its way through his silver locks, and now they were nothing more than wisps of fluff, discoloured and limp. "I can't imagine there would be much flesh to his bone, you do not think? The house-elves will have a difficult time carving the meat. Of course, that does not need to happen, my water snake. I am a benevolent and forgiving ruler. I forgive your treasonous wantings. To redeem yourself, I… have a task for you, Hydrus Malfoy."

Hydrus didn't think he could hear anything. Draco Malfoy stared at the carpet, his eyes unseeing. Thin arms… so thin he was almost afraid they might snap in half, did their best to support the weight of his body, but they trembled and shook, as helpless as a leaf blown by violent winds. His skin came away in strange clumps, flaky as if they were the brittle layers of a French pastry, coming apart like sheets of crinkly wrapping paper.

"There is no need to worry about your brother, my water snake. He has been eating, though the house-elves often find that his meals remain untouched. It seems, he is smarter than he looks. Tell me, Draco Malfoy, what gave away the fact that the meat was indeed human flesh? Does it smell better after it's been fried? Or does the butter do the trick?"

For a moment, the Dark Lord's words seemed to shake him out of his stupor. Draco Malfoy raised his head slowly, his neck trembling, his arms shaking from the effort. "I…" His eyes grew wide, but there was no fight left inside of him; they lowered back to the ground, and with it went the rest of his body.

"If he were a muggle, only death would await him. Luckily for you, wizards have much stronger bodies and better technologies. Your brother can make a full recovery, and he shall, so long as you complete the task at hand."

Now that Draco had shifted, Hydrus could see his stomach, swollen from underneath his robes, large like a melon.

_The Dark Lord promised the hostages would remain unhurt unless the families took up arms against him. Yet… if this is not torture, then what is?_

_A man of his words, _a voice whispered in his head, _just like the promise of Hermione's life, just like the Cruciatus, ripping apart your arms and legs, setting your flesh afire. A man of his words..._

"You will go with Fenrir Greyback," the Dark Lord commanded, his face a pale grey mask of indifference, "and see to the death of that mudblood and her family. The full moon will be in three weeks. Do not return without her head."

Hydrus could feel his throat seize. A strange, wheezing sound came from his mouth, and his thoughts… his thoughts were scattered and crazed, flying through his mind and bouncing off of one another, cursing and laughing and crying and doing a thousand things at once. They could make no sense from the Dark Lord's words, refusing to piece together what he meant.

"My… my Lord?" he managed to say.

"Are you loyal to my cause, Hydrus Malfoy?"

He swallowed; his mouth the sour and vile taste of bile. "Yes." _But you promised her life would be saved. _"Of course."

"Then you know what must be done. Pack your belongings. The Ministry has Aurors surrounding the castle, but the Dementors will clear the way. Go, and do not return without her head."

Hydrus watched Draco Malfoy, his dirty, streaked hair, coming from his scalp in tufts of yellow, as dead to the world as the corpses hanging from the walls.

_A man of his words, _he thought. _He promised me Hermione life, just as he promised he would treat Draco with kindness. What other vows will he break?_

Albus Dumbledore's voice came to him then, floating through the air on a pair of delicate wings made of treason. _And either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives._

* * *

**A/N:**

**Ooh la la this drama right here is through the roof**

**We're at about halfway(?) through Part 2 - okay maybe slightly more than halfway - but we're somewhere and... I _kinda_ know where this is gonna end but I kinda don't so... yeah :) I don't even know why I'm telling you guys this.**

**As always, thanks to KingZeRopL for taking the time to review my story!**

***Spoiler alert* There will be some sort of interaction between Hydrus and Hermione in the coming chapter, not that this is much of a spoiler. You got some Hydrus-Draco interaction in this one as well but not really since he's in this half-starved, barely conscious state. And as for whether or not all four will ever meet up together... well... erm I don't even know. Maybe? **

**When I started writing this fanfic, it was to... yikes I'm gonna be real honest here... it was meant to be a romance thing... oh boy has it changed. I never intentionally wrote Hydrus Malfoy as insane but now that I think about it he does come off pretty... unconventional (hopefully in a good way?) The more I think about it, the more insane his character gets. Right now his entire mental stability and pretty much _reason to live _is for three people, two of which openly hate his guts. In a way if you apply that "a person can only be considered sane if they are willing to draw a line between loyalty and life" to Hydrus Malfoy, he's technically... insane. I invented this quote with just about zero background in psychology, so I have no idea how accurate this is, but it's an interesting thought for sure.**

**Thanks to everyone who took the time to read this week's chapter, and I hope to see you all next week!**

**Bye :)**


	32. Chapter 32

There were six factions of werewolves: the Maior Lupis, the Nerdaya, the Timere, the Anamabus Igneis, the Lacertosis and the Praemetuens. Spread apart a thousand acres of land, each hunted, lived and ate in their territory, some as large as the size of the Forbidden Forest, others no greater than the Great Lake.

Each sent forth a representative to greet Hydrus Malfoy on the night he arrived, their faces grizzled and staunch, with scars running across cheeks and noses. In the darkness, they looked like ghosts, as pale as moonlight. Five were male with one female, and she was just as fierce as the rest.

The wind blew from the east to the west, bringing with it the sweet smell of sap and the sound of rustling leaves. Faraway - as far as Hydrus could see in the darkness - the plains continued, rolling like the thousand humps of a camel, dotted with stark trees. Grass crunched underneath his feet, and he saw a flower of some sort - a deep purple - that grew as it pleased amongst the thin blades of sod. It reminded him of the plump wine-coloured blooms that circled the inside and outside of Hagrid's hut, and only served to make him gloomier than before.

"He is young," came a voice from the six werewolves. The female it had to be, her hair a silvery tumble that rained down to the small of her back. She looked over him critically, her lips pursed into a thin line. "Does the Dark Lord give his trust so easily?"

"Shut your bloody mouth, Vik," Fenrir Greyback snapped. He loomed over the six werewolves easily, his large, hulking body rippling with cords of muscle. "Else he just might set your grounds afire."

_I don't even know if my flames are hot enough to burn human flesh,_ Hydrus thought. It was best he kept those thoughts to himself.

But he hadn't come unarmed - Quirinus Quirrell made sure he brought his wand, for all the usefulness it did. A quiver filled with bolts was tightly bundled in waterproof fabric, and just recently he had oiled the string of his crossbow before slinging it over his shoulder. The silver-gold knife… Hydrus hadn't wanted to bring that, but Marik must have snuck it in, along with his Invisibility Cloak. He could feel the bulge of the fabric on his back.

Hydrus met the eyes of all the assembled tribe leaders before him. None shied away.

_Power, _he thought. _They respect power._

"Little boy's already in trouble with the Dark Lord," one of the males scoffed. "Can't risk doing trouble once more."

"Are the rumours true, then?" came the voice of another werewolf, a rough, throaty growl. "Is he really the fire boy?"

_Fire boy. _Hydrus looked at the werewolf who had spoken. A length of twine ran down his neck, studded with red and yellow feathers, turned brown in the darkness. But their meaning was unmistakable.

His Latin was a bit rusty, but he was quite sure he knew what _Anamabus Igneis _meant. He flexed his hands… and wondered…

_They respect power._

"Yes," Hydrus told him, and made sure not to blink or back away from the creature's gaze. How long they stared, he did not know, but then Fenrir Greyback spoke, and it was over.

"Come," he growled. "A tent has been prepared for you, with the commanders -"

"No," Hydrus told him. His mind was thinking hard, and a plan, as stupid as could be, was forming in his head.

"No?"

"No. I will live with one tribe -"

"_Pack,"_ one of the werewolves snarled.

"Yes. Pack. I will live with one, for the next three weeks."

"Which?" asked Fenrir Greyback.

"The Anamabus Igneis."

Fenrir Greyback studied him, his eyes glowing silver in the darkness of night. "If you are killed in your sleep -"

"The Dark Lord won't care," Hydrus heard himself say. For once, he knew it to be true.

__(O.O)__

He spent his first night camped underneath a blanket of silver stars, feeling the grass tickle his neck. Some of the werewolves had gathered, watching as he passed by, hidden in the shadows of thick pines; girls and boys, men and women alike, some as young as seven, others as old as Remus Lupin. None, he saw, were older than fifty.

_And I will win them._

Hydrus met each of their eyes, watching as some nodded, as others stared back. But none flinched; not even the children. They stood tall and fierce, just like the adults, with a sort of hardness and maturity in their gaze that Hydrus saw every time he looked in the mirror.

He spent the night under a blanket of silver stars, lying on a bed of dry grass, staring at the dark sky, with sleep a faraway thought in his mind.

For how long he stared into the blackness, he did not know, but his mind… his mind was a mess of furious thoughts and morose regrets and sad wishes, and Hydrus Malfoy did not sleep that night, as he had done many times before.

When dawn came, the sky burst with bright red, as if someone had dragged a knife through its dark flesh. Hues of pink and gold crept through, and suddenly, the world was awake, and he could hear the ruffle of fabric and the distant murmur of conversation.

Breakfast was berries and three hares someone had caught, fried in oil and eaten with bread.

"Thank you," Hydrus told the werewolf who handed him a haunch.

She gave a nod, her skin marbled with wrinkles, shaking as she walked. Lycanthropy destroyed a person's body, and so it was almost impossible to tell her age.

The werewolves lived a primitive life, hunting and gathering, eating with their bare hands, and ignoring outsiders with a ferocity unknown to any other species. Few ever acknowledged Hydrus, and fewer still deigned to speak with him.

_I will have them, _he thought.

Hydrus flexed his hand and wondered how he would do it.

The opportunity came upon him the second day as the sun rose on a chilly morning and a werewolf with dark hair and one long scar that ran from eyebrow to lip came upon him as he sat. Hydrus did that often, living with these strange creatures. There was little else to do, but sit and think and regret and pray he knew what to do when the day would come.

"You have a crossbow." He had a deep voice. "Can you use it?"

Hydrus met his gaze. "Yes."

That was the first he had ever gone hunting. For two hours they trekked north, walking with a gang of unruly teenagers, some as young as him, others no older than Marik.

He wondered how Marik was.

_Does he sit in his spare time, as I do? Staring out the window, thinking, praying, wishing, his stomach thick and heavy with regrets? Or does he drink instead; mulled wine in the morning, a good beer to go with lunch and barrels of whisky for dinner?_

Hydrus thought it would be his dear dragon and newfound friend and… mentor he would miss the most. Instead, it was the drinks. The sour, hot taste of firewhisky snaking down his throat, coiling in his heart, lighting his chest with the bittersweet feeling of scalding heat.

Only one day had passed since the time the burning taste of whisky had last touched his lips, but already Hydrus could feel his fingers twitching, as if they were trying to summon a bottle of Odgen's finest mead.

The grass crunched under their feet as they walked, and soon before them were trees as tall as the towers of Hogwarts, their branches almost bare.

"No leaves means we'll have less cover," Dalar told him. "Can you be silent?"

_I once killed my grandmother as she conversed with a woman two feet away from me, _he wanted to say, though perhaps it was for the better that he did not.

Dalar was the youngest of the six boys, thirteen if his word could be believed, though he claimed to be able to put an arrow through any deer's eye from half a hundred yards. Woefully innocent despite his egregious boasts, speaking like… Draco Malfoy often did. The way he made grand claims, and the way he held himself… with dignity and pride, believing that the world was rightfully his to conquer.

All the boys acted like that - even the eldest, _especially _the eldest. At eighteen and with the strongest arm of his family, Rolf was polite enough, but Hydrus could feel the arrogance brimming in his gaze. And just like the rest of them, Rolf was excited to be departing from their grounds, to journey to Hampstead.

_Where Hermione lives._

The thought made him shiver.

_Do they know what will happen in Hampstead? _Hydrus wondered, as he listened to Klydus speak about frog traps. _Do they know that they will transform and rip the throats of young children, mothers, fathers and the elderly? Do they know that the world will only hate them even more?_

He wondered if some would weep in the hours after, as they looked to their hands and saw the blood and the flesh, clinging to their fingers, dried like caked mud.

_But one morning, they will grow familiar with the horrification and self-loathing, and I can only hope for their sake that fateful day will arrive quickly._

It would do him no good to dwell on the certain, so Hydrus interrupted Klydus' passionate speech. "_Anamabus Igneis. _That is Latin."

"Souls of fire," Rolf nodded, a spear in his right arm. "A good, strong name, for a strong pack. We are fierce like the summer sun, as unrelenting as a wildfire, and just as dangerous. In three weeks from now, you will see, Hydrus Malfoy, the havoc our pack will reak."

"I look forward to it."

_Fierce like the summer sun, as unrelenting as a wildfire, and just as dangerous. It is power they value above all._

Unbidden, Quirinus Quirrell's voice floated into his head, his words the advice he had once given Hydrus Malfoy. "_What is it they value? What is it they love? What are they willing to sacrifice the world for, and how… how can you use it against them?"_

Souls of fire… fire was one of the few things Hydrus knew the best.

"Who is your leader?" he asked them.

"That honour belongs to Wyllem," Rolf said proudly. "My father."

_This could become awkward. _"And is this role hereditary?"

"No," Klydus said. "By -"

"By combat." Rolf looked with pride. "My father defeated twenty-three challengers, slitting their throats with his iron knife. It's impressive I know. In fact…"

Hydrus nodded along and prayed he would shut up.

Soon enough, walking in the forest with nothing more than the faraway chirps of birds to keep them company, they found a trail of prints in the red-and-yellow leaves; round, oval-like shapes with slits down the middle.

"Excellent," Dalar declared, though quietly as to not scare away prey. "A buck. I'll show you, Hydrus. My aim is unbeaten by anyone else in the pack."

_And what of your sanity? _he wondered. _Will your mind collapse inwards as you digest the sheer devastation you have brought to this world?_

The frog traps Klydus had spoken so passionately about were full with croaking toads and frogs alike, their limbs twitching and spasming uncomfortably in the grips of the slitted branches. They collected them all, and reset the twigs.

Hydrus held one for a moment, before the creature threatened to break free from his grip.

Laughing, Jeromy had taken it away, stashing the writhing frog in his basket. "They're fighters for sure. Hard to catch with your hands, but who needs hands when you have frog traps, eh Klydus?"

It was him Hydrus liked the most, for his humility and maturity. Jeromy couldn't have been a day older than fifteen, but already, two lines ran down his left cheek, bright red as blood. The full moon had only been a week's past, and the last one must have been horrible for the lad.

_With luck, it will help make him stronger, so that the morning after, three weeks from now, when he sees what he has done, he will be able to stomach those horrible things._

True to his words, Dalar put an arrow through the left eye of a full-grown buck as it grazed in a patch of sunlight. Blood came spurting through the cut, staining his brown-and-white hide a dark red, seeping from his socket and onto his muzzle, dripping onto the bed of autumn leaves, and staining his neck until he seemed to be draped in a crimson scarf. The deer let loose a shriek and burst into a gallop, its hooves pounding noisily against the ground.

He didn't go far. Rolf sprang on the frightened creature with a long spear, and soon, a large stick sprouted on its flank, wibbling and wobbling as the buck raced through the trees.

Hydrus let out a soft breath and pulled the trigger. The quarrel moved so quickly he hadn't even seen it leave his crossbow. Yet another arrow appeared before the deer's eyes, pushed with such force that for a moment, it was shoved backwards. The buck fell almost immediately, and a plaintive whine came through his mouth.

Jeromy was there to deliver mercy.

A spray of blood came leaping from its neck, and even ten yards away, Hydrus could feel the warm liquid, spraying across his clothes as he leaped down from the bare branches of a tree. When he looked at his trousers, he saw fine little dots all across the cotton, turning dark red like blood.

_At least, it isn't from a person this time._

It took the better part of the afternoon to lug the corpse back to the campsite. They bound the legs of the buck to a long stick, and took turns carrying either end. There was no smell but the rusted scent of fresh blood; Hydrus found it warming, and helped curb his desire for firewhisky.

"Your crossbow is quite powerful," Dalar told him on their way back. "Even our strongest archer can't make a full-grown buck shy away like that."

"Powerful," Hydrus agreed, "and needs very little skill to operate. Which is why I like it."

Of them all, Jeromy laughed the loudest.

That night, they supped on a stew of deer, onions and carrots, served with bread and a sort of beer made of fermented grains. It tasted alright, Hydrus supposed, but it had nowhere near the heat of firewhisky.

A man slid beside him then, on his log a dozen paces away from the fire. The wind ran from east to west - Jeromy had taught him how to tell them apart - and so the smoke blew in the opposite direction.

"My son tells me grand tales of your crossbow," he said. "A piece of art, he says. Might I have a look at it? Our family holds great value and archery and I only wish to study the mechanisms of your weapon."

Hydrus handed it to him, and half-listened as the werewolf marvelled over the string and the curve of the wood, and the complexity and on and on it went until he thought his ears might fall out.

The night darkened as they sat by the fire, the flames a swirl of ruby and gold and carnelian and a thousand bright gems, twinkling like stars. For the first time, all the werewolves of the _Anamabus Igneis _gathered, for dinnertime was a sacred tradition. They were a mass of one, two hundred werewolves, talking and sharing stories and japes, laughing and moving and doing all sorts of things that Hydrus was in no mood to do.

Until, someone rang a tin bell, and suddenly, all conversation ceased.

The wise, old woman who had given Hydrus his leg of hare yesterday morning stood, limp, grey locks pooling at her shoulder. "Before we say goodnight, a story must be told. Who will volunteer?"

Children, some as young as five, began to stand and started chanting over and over, their sounds mixing until Hydrus could just barely make out their words. "_Nana," _they called. "_Nana, nana, nana."_

Nana?

Had the frail woman given birth to all their mothers?

Was it even possible for a werewolf to birth children?

Yet the questions disappeared in his mind as quickly as they came, and soon he found himself standing, no taller than some of the children, but his back was straight and his chin was raised and Hydrus Malfoy stood tall. The alcohol, as feeble as it was, must have gotten to his head; he could feel his legs quiver and his arms shake. _From the beer_, he told himself, _not nerves._

The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I have a story."

They quieted almost immediately. The children turned their eyes to him, followed closely by the adults, until suddenly everyone stared at him with a combination of hostility and curiosity.

At last, the crone spoke in her croaking voice. "You have a story?"

"Yes."

She folded her weathered, pale hands and sat back down. "Never before have the _Anamabus Igneis _heard a tale from an outsider. Speak, Hydrus Malfoy, and tell us all a story."

What compelled him to move forward, he did not know, but his feet were walking, forward and forward, until he stood so close to the fire he could feel his fingers tingling, though the heat, as it always was, never bothered him.

"I have a story about a boy." The beer did not slur his voice, and for that Hydrus was eternally grateful. "A boy named Harry Potter. You might have heard his story. It's not new, and it's certainly not obscure. The tale has been told a thousand times over of this great, marvellous Boy-Who-Lived, who slew the Dark Lord at the age of one. Albus Dumbledore might have told an elaborate story; one of _love_ and _sacrifice._"

Hydrus scoffed, his drunken stupor only making his voice louder.

"His parents died, that is true. But it was not _love_ nor _sacrifice_ that gave him this strength. It was power. Raw power, so strong it led to the death of the boy's aunt and uncle. So strong it burned entire libraries to the ground, so strong it could hatch dragon eggs. So strong, its fires do not take the form of weak red-and-gold bursts such as _those_." Hydrus gestured to the fire. He must have looked half-mad then, with the golden glow of the blaze reflecting off his face, painting him like a god. "It took the form of deep purple and dark red, as dark as sin, for its existence broke half a hundred laws of nature… yet it persisted nonetheless, for this boy had a point to be made, and he would make that point, even if the gods decided he would die an early death."

Hydrus stopped. For a moment, his wits came back to him, and he wondered where the words came from. He hadn't sounded one bit like himself - rather, as if some sort of demon had taken its place, with all his charm and confidence, using a silver-tongue he did not possess to wow his hostile audience to a stunned silence.

But then, the wine worked his magic and some more words came from his mouth. "You are the _Anamabus Igneis_; the Souls of Fire, yet where is your flame?"

Angry muttering had spread throughout the group, and he could hear muffled curses in their midst.

_Show no fear or you will be eaten alive._

Hydrus spread his gaze, meeting the eyes of the shadowed faces, hidden beyond the fire, filled with reproach. "Your leader is amongst you tonight. Where is he?"

Someone pushed forward from the rabble; a great, grisly werewolf with three scars running parallel across his face, turned blacker than nightmares in the shadow of the fire. His arms were thick with muscle, and pale with grey hairs. When he spoke, a rasp came through, as deep as could be. "Right here."

"Good." Hydrus forced a smile. The wine gave him a courage unlike anything else in the world. "I wish to challenge your rule."

__(O.O)__

The crone stood once more, her thin arms shaking as she croaked. "No human has the right to rule the _Anamabus Igneis._"

"And no mortal shall rule the Souls of Fire. My soul is fire. What of yours?"

The great werewolf lunged forward, leaping across the embers of the fire with inhuman strength, a knife in his meaty fingers.

_His name is Wyllem, _Hydrus remembered at the last moment.

He rolled as the beast lunged, and when the werewolf missed, Hydrus shoved his hands against a hairy arm and willed his flames to life.

They glowed a strange purple and red, so dark they were almost impossible to see under a cloudless night. Yet he smelled them: the scent of burning flesh, that reminded him of grilled deer, and he heard the sounds as well: screaming, thrashing, _roaring_ with such intensity that for a moment, Hydrus wondered if the beast's head would explode.

He jerked away as the dark purple flames consumed the rest of Wyllem's corpse, shook the fire from his hands and picked up the werewolf's knife. "A fine bit of metal," he commented, picking at the edge. "Rusted iron; sharp, but not very useful."

His voice was drowned by Wyllem's screams, echoing in the night like the sound of tortured animals.

"End it now," he could hear the crone say. "This is torture, not justice."

Hydrus turned to face her, looking over the purple-red of the flames, meeting her old grey eyes. "Justice? He has never wronged me. It is not his life I want. You have seen the coming and going of leaders. Tell me how this is any different."

"Let him yield," a voice begged, a soft, faraway voice, turned almost mute against the crackle of flesh.

"Alright." Hydrus looked at Wyllem, with the dark purple flames licking at his face, rolling on the grass, his features a macabre twist of burned and broken flesh. "Do you yield?"

No sound came out but a hoarse scream. It would have been a miracle if the beast could hear him; the cartilage in his outer-ear had long since burned away to a black crisp.

"No response. It seems he wishes to continue this fight."

"Please," came another voice. "He's my father."

Hydrus looked around the circle of werewolves, and could not put a face to that voice. It sounded familiar. Had he heard it before?

The adrenaline coursed through his veins, hot like true fire, as if he had drunk a thousand bottles of firewhisky and held another million in his hand. He felt a strange sort of elation and light-headedness, and -

Something barrelled into his head with the force of a thousand quarrels and Hydrus found himself spitting out bits of mud and leaves. The grass was wet, and someone's fingers scratched at his face. He could feel the sharp point of a knife gracing his neck - but then his hands were afire, and someone else was shrieking now, strangely familiar despite all the wine he had drunk.

The grip on him loosened, and the same scent of burning flesh was once more ripe in the air.

He got to his feet shakily and brushed a finger across his throat, where he had felt the ice-cold tip of that knife. Blood came off, glimmering like dark amethysts in the purple fire. Hydrus wiped it away, disgusted.

The second werewolf had jumped on him from behind, most likely hoping to kill him before Wyllem died - too late for that now. His body had stopped moving and his shrieks had stopped a while ago, but the dark purple-red flames persisted, as if they were mushrooms, growing on a log.

The other one, however…

Hydrus studied the face.

The flames made it difficult to identify the face… but as the beast thrashed and writhed, Hydrus saw the scar that ran from lip to eyebrow and knew it had to be Rolf.

Only three hours past, they had been laughing as they lugged home the great deer; the large buck strung at the hooves on a thick, sturdy branch. The world turned blurry as Hydrus fumbled for the iron knife Wyllem had dropped.

He ran the cool metal across Rolf's throat.

A fine sheet of blood came running from the beast's throat, splattering all across Lord Black's face. He wiped it away with the tears.

_Life isn't fair, _Lord Black thought, _and you should have chosen a spear. Not a knife._

If Rolf had flung the spear with the same ferocity as he had that afternoon, Hydrus would be impaled to the ground, no doubt hearing the ragged cheers of all the werewolves.

He stood and turned his gaze to the crone. Silence reigned as king in this raggle of werewolves with no sound but the crackling of flesh and the heavy, heavy breath of death. It draped across the pack of werewolves, thicker than fog, a sort of shock and grief and mourning that turned the world cold like ice.

"The Dark Lord must have promised you great things," Hydrus boomed, his voice sounding unnaturally loud. "Lands, respect and gold in this new world. He's a man of his words -" _just like how he promised me Hermione's life _"- and I can attest to as much. Yet once the conquest was over, once Europe went back to peace, he would have given you - oh, a forest here, maybe a house, but little else. The term _Lycanthropy_ strikes fear in the hearts of any wizard - regardless of who ruled the country, you would be feared and hated and discriminated against until your dying breath.

"Perhaps you do not believe. I suppose I can't blame you. Your leader lies before my feet, burned to a crisp after all. Yet know that I sit at the left-hand side of the Dark Lord -" _who has been reduced to a screaming narcissist ever since his defeat at Godric's Hollow "_\- and I am present at every Death Eater meeting. Fenrir Greyback has been belittled and mocked, scorn and derided, treated like scum, for in the eyes of great wizards, he is nothing but an up-jumped mutt, a mongrel; a half-breed. You are a weapon to the Dark Lord, and once the war has been won with your aid, you will be retired and put away, to never be remembered but by your savagery."

The crone rose then, her wrinkled features turned a pale silver-purple underneath the glow of the unnatural flames. "You are our leader, by right of combat. There is nothing to explain."

"But there is." Hydrus felt a laugh bubble in the back of his throat and wondered if he had gone mad. "For if I don't give a good enough explanation as to why I've taken leadership, well, I might not survive the night."

He could have sworn he heard someone laugh.

The crone gestured, unsmiling. "As you may."

"I am a rich man, with many properties across the world. I am also generous, even more generous than the Dark Lord, you will find; especially when it comes to my friends." The wine made him bold - too bold. "I need help with something."

"You are our leader," the crone said, even if unwillingly. "We are yours to command."

"I am," Hydrus agreed. "But this is a deal we are making."

He explained the plan to them carefully, step-by-step, his drunken wits doing the best they could to piece together what his sober mind would have wanted. At first, he could see their distrust and hatred, hidden in their shadowed faces, but as he continued to speak, more and more were nodding along, until finally, he could see he had the majority convinced - and all he needed was the majority.

"And this potion," the crone asked, "where will you find it?"

"I have been blessed with wealth." _If nothing else._

"Where will we find this… girl?"

He could feel his palms grow slick and sticky at the mere thought… if the Dark Lord found out…

_He won't, _Hydrus told himself. And prayed he was right.

"I'll show her to you. Her and her parents."

Someone else stood up now; a tall, burly man who looked reluctant to do anything at Hydrus' bidding. "You said this was a deal. They work both ways. In return for what you have asked, what will you give us?"

"Easy. Once she has been secured, and a small group of your best warriors assigned to defend her, I will step down from my position as leader of the _Anamabus Igneis_ and as a symbol of gratitude, I will send packages once a fortnight, filled with anything you may need: knives, spears, toiletries, food should you wish it. Potions, salves, ointments if you'd like, to help with the after-effects of the full moon."

Hydrus could see their words had moved him. Those that were not nodding along were doing so now, and when another werewolf spoke, their voice was polite and filled with an optimism alien to this pessimistic race.

"And how do we know your word is true?"

The voice had no face, so Hydrus faced the crone when he spoke. "You don't. The same way I did not know if you would skin me alive for killing your leader. Trust is a two-way street fraught with corruption, yet I am a just man - I gave Rolf a quick death even though his attack was dishonourable. Do as I ask, and you will receive those boxes. Refuse, and well, I have every right to command you as I wish, but I am not a tyrannical ruler."

He looked around him, at their shadowed faces, fraught with mistrust and grievance, yet their eyes… they shone with hope, from behind the network of scars that marbled their features.

The moon had risen by then, glowing in the sky like a ball of silver flames, playing host to a gaggle of faraway stars. _Eighteen days… until the attack…_

Hydrus straightened his back and pushed down his shoulders. "You are all dismissed. Sweet dreams, everyone."

__(O.O)__

He could feel the restlessness of the pack - _his_ pack - as strong a gust of wind blew in the night. If what Jeromy said was true, sunset would be at seven o'clock, or soon enough to make no difference. From then, they would have five hours before the transformation set in and the inner beast would come to life, grey like slate, with a lust for blood matched only by Bellatrix Lestrange.

For once, the _Anamabus Igneis _ate dinner apart, each family huddled around their little fire, sharing whatever they had foraged earlier today. What seemed like a hundred different spots glowed a golden orange with the fading sun, the shadows cast across the rolling plains stark as strips of blackness against a bright, rustling field of yellow.

From his position, crouched in the branches of a tall, tall cedar, Hydrus Malfoy saw all. He liked it up here, ever since Jeromy had taught him how to climb trees with the deftness of a squirrel. The approach of the full moon made him weak, however, and so Lord Black had encouraged that he dine with his parents instead of standing sentinel with him, as they often did when the sun rose and set.

Hampstead lay less than half an hour's trek, and if done at full speed, would take no more than ten minutes. Hydrus had sent scouts to investigate the town, even if the crone knew all that there was to know about its inhabitants and geography. He listened when she spoke, but he wouldn't leave the fate of his dearest friend in the hands of some old woman of dubious loyalty. When the pack slept at night, and after he heard the reports from teams of young werewolves, Hydrus Malfoy donned his Invisibility Cloak, once stained with piss and blood, and crept to the fringes of the town, to where they told them Hermione lived.

He found the house, though the blinds were drawn and he had no way of seeing through them. Hydrus could only pray that his scouts knew what they were doing.

Miles found him then; a lean man in his twenties, crippled from the upcoming full-moon, but youthful enough to still hobble over to Hydrus' regular cedar tree. "Is it time?" he asked.

Lord Black looked over the campfires, now dimmed to a dull red in the darkening sky. "Sound the horn."

He shimmied down the tree with grace and rubbed off bits of twigs and a dry leaf that had clung to his brown trousers. Miles blew the horn; the hollow of an antelope's antler, a rare, rare thing - older than the crone herself, a gift from humans if the tales were true, for no antelope lived in Great Britain.

The sound was loud and warm, and it brought the werewolves together soon enough. A hundred and fifty-three would follow him to Hampstead tonight; the women and children would stay behind, and those too old.

_But they'll transform nonetheless, and will have to contend with the pain and the suffering in the morning after._

The full moon rose on a black sky speckled with silver stars. Hydrus could hear their shrieks, filled with pain and agony, as bones were broken, ligaments rearranged and hair grown all across their bodies.

They jerked and writhed, dancing a horrible dance brought on by a curse. Their noses elongated to delicate muzzles, their arms lengthened until they were thick with cords of muscle. Stiff grey hairs covered them from head to claw, and as one, let loose a horrible howl, their ululating voices echoing in the darkness of the night sky.

Hydrus stood at the fringes of the assembled werewolves, closest to Hampstead, his eyes scanning the buildings, his heart filled with trepidation; already, the other werewolves were beginning to turn their red eyes towards the smell of fresh meat.

"Come," he ordered, his voice fading, overwhelmed by the cries of newly transformed beasts.

The _Anamabus Igneis _fell in line behind him, some hobbling, others limping, but they followed Hydrus and that was all that mattered.

Dry, autumnal grass crunched under his feet as he raced down the hill, mixed with the sound of ragged breaths and muffled whines. He broke into a sprint at the first of a muggle.

It gave a sudden shriek upon the sight of Hydrus and his pack of lumbering werewolves, one hundred and fifty-three in all. They trampled by, the beasts' paws making a rhythmic sound as they pounded on the cement.

What happened to the muggle, he didn't know.

Hydrus could feel his chest seize and his legs cramp as they reached the first building; a cottage on the fringes of the hill. If its resident was lucky, they would have barred the windows and doors. If not…

Hydrus looked behind him for a moment, at the mass of silvery-grey bodies and sharp fangs. The other five packs were barrelling down the hill as well, and some had tried to break through his thick wall of bodies and sup on the first bite of human flesh, but the _Anamabus Igneis _were nothing if not fierce warriors. None came close to him.

His legs began to feel like jelly after they passed another column of houses, and by the time they reached the first street sign, he thought he might collapse. "Miles," he managed to gasp through gritted teeth, his breath punctured by lathered huffs. "Bring Team Alpha over to - to Hermione's place."

All werewolves looked alike when fully transformed, especially in the silver moonlight, but he had commanded that Miles stay by his side unless specifically ordered to leave. The beast closest to him with mottled grey-white fur gave a strange bow of sorts, his forelegs folding awkwardly. A howl escaped from his throat, and suddenly, fifty werewolves melted away from his pack and cantered towards the row of houses, growling as they went.

"I need higher ground," Hydrus heard himself say, though with the blood pumping through his head with such vigour, he thought it was a miracle he could hear anything at all. "The… the fire station… Dorond… send Team Betta… chase off any wolves…"

Another wolf folded its forelegs and let loose an ululating howl. Twenty werewolves melted from his pack this time, smaller than the ones he had sent off before, disappearing soon enough into the darkness.

Hydrus took in another gasp of air and readied himself to break into another run. Only half-jokingly, he wondered if Jeromy would mind if he rode on his back.

His chest burned like fire. With every step he took, he could feel his heart going _thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump,_ beating louder than the paws of the great lumbering beasts, drumming in his mind over and over again until the world was reduced to nothing but that horrible sound. Even the pain from his legs seemed to go away, though his head did start to burn.

Hydrus might have run past the fire station if a werewolf hadn't nipped at his shirt. "Thank… thank…" The words wouldn't come from his throat. Giving a half-sigh punctured by another gasp of air, he turned his head upwards where the twenty werewolves of Team Betta waited, some prowling the rooftops, others waiting in the streets, their coat of fur glistening in the silver moonlight, fangs bared.

He might have passed out on his way to the top of the roof, but something nabbed at his clothes once more, and another jerked him back to the present. Hydrus tried to give him thanks, but another moan escaped from his mouth.

Hampstead had three fire stations if the reports from his hastily made scouts could be believed. This one was the closest to the edge of their city, but still a good three kilometres from the hill.

Had he run that far?

Suddenly, he wanted to collapse on this flat-roofed building and sleep a thousand years, to rest his jellified legs.

_But Hermione… _a voice whispered in his mind, and Hydrus found it in himself to stand once more.

From up high, he could see blocks and blocks away, the swirling masses of rippling fur and muscle, making their way across the gridded layout of the city, bringing with them destruction and carnage. The scent of blood assaulted his nose and for a moment, the lathered breaths of the werewolves surrounding him were drowned out by screams.

Hydrus wondered if any of them were Hermione's. He had ordered that none of the beasts harm his dear friend or her parents, but when one found a ragged band of wolves outside their homes…

The breeze ran from north to south, a chill wind that wiped the sweat from his face. "Yen," he called, his breath hitched with huffs. "Bring a team of five wolves. You can… you can tell which are which by smell, can you?" He didn't wait for a response. "As soon as the house has been secured, send someone back."

A lean werewolf slipped apart from the rest and went on to nudge one here, another there, before it bent its forelegs towards Hydrus Malfoy and leapt off the roof.

The fall must have been at least eight metres, but when he checked, the six wolves were racing across the street, already lost in the mass of silver bodies roaming the walkways, fangs coated in blood.

He looked to the distance, scanning the rooftops, watching as lights fluttered in and out, listening to the cacophony of screams, piercing the air like quarrels. They made a strange song altogether, but it was a pretty one. He wondered how many of Hampstead's inhabitants were still alive, and how many more would become werewolves come the dawn. He wondered if the Aurors had been called yet; perhaps not. Hampstead was large, with a little over half a hundred thousand different inhabitants, but woefully faraway from wizards. And - they only were assigned to attack the northern bit, where Hermione lived.

_And with luck, she will come through the night unharmed._

Something knocked against his elbow then, and as a werewolf gestured its pale grey muzzle at another beast, Hydrus thought he recognized it as Yen - though they all looked alike. "Have they found her?" he asked.

The wolf bobbed its head.

If his midnight trek had been accurate, Hermione lived perhaps another five kilometres from here, and if he ran all of that…

"Jeromy," Hydrus called. The werewolf nearest to him, already standing at attention perked his muzzle upwards. "Hermione lives far from here -"

He sat down on his hindquarters and gestured his head.

Somehow, Hydrus found a way to scramble onto his back with dignity and curled his fingers around Jeromy's shoulders. Transformed as a full-fledged werewolf, he was much larger than before.

He could feel the cords of muscle, thick like coils of rope, his fingers clamping on soft fur, Jeromy's body hot like true fire, his every breath sending tremors throughout his body. When he leaped, Hydrus felt the wind brush through his dark hair, throwing his locks into a swirl.

The sound of fighting was louder in the streets; the ripping of human flesh, the cries of mercy from dying victims. Howls punctured the scene, as loud as the warhorn Miles had blown. All sorts of smells came and went, but none of it was worse than the scent of rotting corpses, and so Hydrus brushed them off with ease.

Jeromy raced down the streets, leaping over bits of rubble and stone, leading the eighty-some werewolves. Some - of one of the five other packs - tried to snap at Hydrus' head, but members of the _Anamabus Igneis _were always there to block their blows and bare their claws. Jeromy dodged what they could not block with grace, leaping like a droplet of water, as fluid as could be.

For a moment, Lord Black almost fooled himself into thinking that they had become _his_ \- with a loyalty only given to an admired leader. But then Jeromy came to a particularly sudden swerve, and Hydrus was brutally reminded that the werewolves only wanted the potions and salves he would gift them. Not his leadership.

They came to a stop before Hermione's house, surrounded by a wall of werewolves, their red eyes shimmering like fire in the moonlight. When they saw Hydrus, they parted, and Jeromy pushed through at full-speed.

He came to a stop at the front door, and Lord Black slipped off his back with his best attempt at grace. His legs had gone hard as rock from clenching onto Jeromy's ever-moving hide. Taking awkward, stumbling steps, he clambered to the door.

Excitement thrummed through him, coursing like jolts of electricity, making his fingertips tingle. "_Hermione,_" he called to the door, looking like a full-blown idiot.

A werewolf nuzzled the small of his back, pushing him away gently before backing up and crashing into the door at full speed. The hinges gave away easily.

From inside, a scream came through - a jumble, made of two voices. Only one Hydrus recognized, and he thought his heart might stop. He raced through the doorway, almost tripping on the bits of wood and metal, but the world might have ended then, and _he wouldn't have cared._

No light shone in this dark place, but the moon glowed bright tonight, filling her golden locks with a lustful shine. She had grown taller, Hydrus realized, taller than even him, her brown eyes glazed and confused as they stared at the doorway.

For a long moment, none dared speak.

The scars ran down her face, a mosaic of pale lines and mottled skin, casting great, long shadows across her pretty features, blood leaking from a cut on her lip. Hermione's skin had grown paler than before, milk-white, and though she wore ludicrous pink, fuzzy pajamas, Hydrus had never seen such a wondrous sight before.

"Hermione," he managed at last. And then suddenly he remembered why he had come. Only one werewolf had followed him into the room; Jeromy it had to be. "We need to go. The Aurors -"

He heard Jeromy bare his teeth. Hydrus looked up from Hermione's timeless brown eyes. A man - her father or whatever - bared a kitchen knife, its steel polished and sharp. With a good swing he might have been able to cut Lord Black's arm to the bone, but not if he set him afire first.

"_GET AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER."_

The point of the knife came dangerously close.

Hydrus had half a mind of ordering Jeromy to take him down, but he doubted Hermione would appreciate the intent. "I'm not gonna hurt her -"

"_Who are you?"_

"D-d-ad," Hermione stuttered, her voice as delicate as morning dew, "that's… that's…"

Her eyes would not leave Hydrus' face, and immediately he knew why.

_She knows, then. She knows I have declared for Lord Voldemort._

"I'm a friend," Hydrus Malfoy said quickly. He didn't want to know what Hermione would say. "And unless you don't come along soon, you'll be eaten alive."

The idiot man puffed his chest and swung his knife at an imaginary enemy. "Are you threatening me?"

He wanted to say yes. His crossbow was slung over his right shoulder, though in the time that it took to load a quarrel, Hermione's father would be able to skin him alive. Instead, his silver-gold knife would do the trick. A flick of the wrist and he would be no more.

_We have no time, _he wanted to yell. _Can't you see? I'm saving you, Hermione. I'm saving you and your mother and your idiot father. The Aurors will be coming. Can you hear me? THE AURORS WILL BE COMING._

Instead, his voice came out calm and steady, colder than ice. "Have Team Betta subdue her parents."

Werewolves had remarkably good ears. Barely three had made their way in before Hermione's idiot father lay on the ground, writhing feebly under the weight of a large beast, its hindquarters sitting firmly on his chest.

"Hermione," Hydrus tried again, just barely aware of how desperate he sounded. "There's a boat waiting for you. In the docks in London. Do you understand me? But we can't go now. Werewolves… are too conspicuous. The day after, you're going to board that ship and sail far away from here."

"I - I…" A feeble, stuttering sound came from her throat. "I'm not coming with you."

He thought someone had crushed his windpipe. A thousand times he had dreamed of what Hermione might say.

_You knew this was going to happen._

Hydrus swallowed the lump in his throat and looked over at Jeromy, still at his side, unmoving. "We need to go now. Do you think you can support two people at once?"

He heard Hermione shriek.

Jeromy bobbed his canine head, and Hydrus caught her writhing body, fumbling as she tried to escape from his clutches.

Her skin was smoother than he remembered, and she wore strange metal brackets on her teeth. They glittered like platinum in the moonlight. "Let - me - go," she commanded, her voice a shrill squeak.

Hydrus turned to the other werewolves in the room. "Would it be too much if I asked you to carry their bodies? In your teeth - oh." He remembered suddenly that werewolves couldn't do as much without infecting the person. "Nevermind." Lord Black looked into Hermione's idiot father's eyes. He did his best to gather what remained of his fragmented patience. "Listen - sir - I can explain everything when we're safe, but until then, you have to trust me -"

Under the weight of a full-grown werewolf, the man could barely muster a scowl, but the hatred was evident in his eyes.

"Let him go," Hydrus told the beast. It lifted its hindquarters from the man's chest.

Spluttering, Hermione's idiot father sat up. "You put my daughter down -"

"_Ride_ on the wolf's back, or I'll feed your daughter to the werewolves you see here."

He could feel Hermione still in his arms.

_She already hates me, _Hydrus told himself. _What is some more hatred?_

By the time her parents had found their seating on the back of two werewolves, the sky was beginning to lighten, turning the deep blue of a strangled face. They made their way surrounded by beasts, their fur rippling with every stride.

"Take us far away from here, where we can talk," Hydrus told Jeromy. Hermione had finally gone still in her arms. When he looked down for the barest of moments, he saw pupils of bronze, filled with fear.

_Of course. The last time she interacted with some sort of magic, she got cursed by Quirinus Quirrell._

How it happened, Hydrus did not know, but he found his thumb rubbing circles across the back of Hermione's hand, as gentle as a breeze.

Jeromy stopped on clearing far away from Hampstead, its fields made of blades of grass and dark purple flowers. The _Anamabs Igneis _fanned out around him, a sea of silvery bodies.

Hydrus slipped to his feet, and when he offered a hand to Hermione, she only glared at him. "I want some time alone with her," he told his pack. "Go… scout the fields… make sure none of the other five packs come within half a kilometre of us. And… find…"

He left his sentence hanging there and gave a slight gesture to the direction of Hampstead. It would be for the better if Hermione didn't hear the last part. The beasts understood what was left unsaid, and they fled in all directions, flying like silver knives in the moonlight, crisp, autumnal grass crunching under their paws.

Hermione's parents had managed to clamber off the backs of their werewolves, Hydrus noticed with wry amusement. Only one remained in their proximity, its fur a light ripple of grey. "You too, Jeromy," he told him.

He looked as if he were about to hesitate. But then Jeromy bent his forelegs and leaped away.

"Is this your friend you've told us about?" the idiot man asked Hermione. He pointed his finger at Hydrus, as if he were no more than a dog, intruding on their pathetic family moment.

"Dad -"

"The one who's declared for - for - You Know Who?" He turned to glare at Hydrus. "I want you away from my daughter -"

Lord Black ignored him. "There's a war, Hermione. I think you know that already. You won't be safe in Great Britain - or anywhere in Europe. A ship… a ship will take you to Canada… far away, far enough that the war can't hurt you. A house has been readied for you in Toronto. Do you remember how you told me you always wanted to visit the Robarts Library? Now you can, Hermione."

He made to step forward, but a rough hand had clasped itself on his arm. In the distance, he could hear growls, drifting through the air like a promise of death.

"Don't. Touch. Her."

Hydrus gave him that victory. "Money will be provided to you. Two hundred thousand Canadian Dollars, enough to live off of for a while if your parents can't find jobs. Your house will be big, big enough for five other people. They are your protectors - do you understand? They are friends of mine, and have sworn to give their life for yours if it ever comes to that."

Hermione stared at him, unblinking, her eyes slack and glazed, her mouth moving, but no sound came through. At least, she had stopped glaring at him. Hydrus took it as encouragement.

"Magic… hasn't been good to you. And, well, this war will - I…" He realized all of a sudden how quiet the world had gotten.

Hermione's mother nudged her husband, wrestling him far enough away so his words couldn't be heard by them. She gave Hydrus a fleeting smile.

"This war will be bloody, and… lives will be lost. But when this is all over, I'll find you. By then… maybe you'll have gone to high school or - or what's that muggle thing called -?"

"University," Hermione told him, a soft smile creeping up her pale lips.

"Yes. University. A good one, or, I don't know. But I'll come and find you, and if you want I'll bring you back to London or Hampstead or wherever you want." Hydrus felt his cheeks flush, and for a moment, he looked away. "Do you still have your wand?"

"My dad wanted to break it… but… the house… the house is gone now, I guess." Her voice cracked. "What happened, Hydrus? Are they wolves? You called them werewolves. Are they yours? Was - was this all a diversion… to - to get me -"

"Of course not." _But if it ever came to that, I will rip apart the world with my bare hands if it means keeping you safe._ "Only some are mine - the rest…" Hydrus caught the eye of a werewolf, one that had stayed close by. When it came closer, he thought he recognized the spotted muzzle and soft silver fur of Jeromy. "Hermione left her wand inside her house. Assemble as many as you need and bring it back."

It bent its forelegs, and turned in the opposite direction, already fading into a distant grey blur against a dark, dark world.

"What about you?" Hermione asked, her voice lighter than Acromantula silk.

"What about me?"

"The war - you can't go back… can't go back to Hogwarts… you should… you… come…"

Hydrus gave a rueful smile. _I have made my bed a thousand years' past, and until Draco and Daphne are safe as well, I'm not moving._ "No," he told her gently. "My place is here."

He could see her face tighten. Hermione bit her lip as the realization came upon her. "So it's true. Have - have -"

Hydrus made to rest his hand on her shoulder but stopped at the last moment. "Everyone makes their choices. I have made mine."

Watching her face crumple was perhaps the worst thing he had ever seen.

"But - You Know Who - he - he - he is… he doesn't… he doesn't like… my sort…"

_You misunderstand him. Blood is only the price he pays for the wands of the Death Eaters. _Yet Hydrus kept thinking back to that night, as they received word from the Neonate, as the Dark Lord swished his wand and cursed him with a pain so terrible he thought he had died.

"He doesn't," Hydrus agreed, wondering if his words were true.

"But you… you've… saved me."

"I hope."

"And… and he let you?"

Hydrus winced, and suddenly he could feel his heart beating once more, pounding louder and louder, filled with the horrible fear of what might happen to Draco and Daphne if the Dark Lord found out… if… if… if…

Hermione gasped. "Will he… will he… hurt you for this?"

_No more than he has already. _"Not if he finds out."

Even in the dark, Hydrus could see her face, turning paler and paler, white like chalk. "And... what if he does?"

_Then I can only pray that Draco and Daphne have been hidden somewhere across the ocean, one in South America, another in Australia. Never put your eggs in one basket. _"Then your whereabouts have died with me. You will be safe, and that is all that matters."

He could hear faraway shouts and bangs, muffled by distance, turned to no more but the whisper of wind, as quiet as could be. Yet when Hydrus turned his head in the direction of Hampstead, he thought he saw flashes; flashes of a thousand different colours, bouncing in the darkness of night, meaning only one thing. The Aurors had arrived.

He felt no panic - they were little and less compared to the sheer number of werewolves.

But Hermione clutched his arm, her pale fingers warm against the chill wind. "They're wizards from the Ministry, aren't they? Hydrus - you - the Dark Lord - he… he…" She stopped, and took a breath, gathering her courage. "Have you killed anyone?"

_I killed Susan Bones, or do you not remember? I killed my aunt and uncle as well, and watched as my cousin was burned alive before my eyes. His flesh smelled the nicest of them all; I suppose that was from all his fat. They were accidents, however, so I suppose they don't count. But yes, Hermione. I have killed on purpose since then, and more than once as well. More than ten times. I've lost count now. _That would not have been the right thing to say, so Hydrus didn't answer.

"You're _twelve,_" he heard Hermione whisper. "How…?"

_Am I truly twelve years old? _Hydrus wondered. It felt like a thousand years ago when he first befriended Hermione. Another thousand since his falling out with Draco and Daphne. And then another since the Dark Lord's resurrection. _I have lived a thousand lives, Hermione. And you do not want to hear about how I killed the sixteen-year-old girl with a crossbow, as she stood, not even a dozen yards away. Nor do you want to hear about the slaughter of the muggle-borns, as their blood ran red and cold across the floor of the Great Hall. Nor do you want to hear of the time Bellatrix once slashed open the chest of a thirteen-year-old girl who had bright, golden hair like yours. _

"Dawn will be here soon," Hydrus told her instead. "You should get some rest."

_The dawn of a new era, _he thought bitterly.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Well yikes this was a monster of a chapter to write. Very fun, though.**

**For the most part, Hydrus has been pretty passive throughout the story, not technically doing anything from his own free will. But now...**

**I wanted to separate this into two chapters but then decided not to. I think it works pretty well as one giant blob of words.**

**Special thanks to KingZeRopL for taking the time to review my story!**

**The Dark Lord will fall... and you can probably guess by who... How that'll happen though, I have absolutely no clue. I do know though, that Part 2 is coming to a close sometime soon. (I know I said we were only a little over halfway in the last chapter but - and you might have noticed - consistency isn't my thing). This will end in the next... five, ten chapters? Maybe? Something along those lines. The Death Eaters won't be giving up - not so long as Voldemort is there, breathing down their necks. I mean, despite what Hydrus thinks (we're looking at the opinion of a twelve year old right here; not very reliable) the Dark Lord still has a lot of different forces and units. And while he has taken a pretty severe blow, so has the Order. Hydrus is a bit of a mess right now, and he does seem a bit undecided. After today's chapter though, I think we can firmly say where his priorities are. And as for the coming chapters... we'll only see them bleed through more and more...**

**Things will get *interesting* (I hope) in the coming chapters as I try to figure out how on Earth to end this thing. (You'll notice how the ending of Part 1 was as disjointed as could be. I have no idea how to end stuff. If you guys have some tips or advice feel free to share 'em.)**

**As always, thank you guys so much for reading this chapter, and I hope to see you all next week!**

**Bye :)**


	33. Chapter 33

Hydrus Malfoy set the girl's head before the Dark Lord, kneeling on the cold marble floor. Blood ran from his fingers to his elbows, turning his skin a coppery red, falling from his flesh in droplets, watering the ground.

_As if it hasn't seen enough blood._

Her hair had been a pasty yellow-brown, falling down her back in thick tangles, with nowhere near the beauty or elegance of Hermione's bushy curls. Nor did her features match his sweet friend's pale lips or deep brown eyes. But in death, and coated with dirt and sticky blood, one nose too large or a chin too shallow made no difference.

"Rise," came the Dark Lord's voice, softer than a whisper. "And so you have returned."

His knees had gone numb, and when Hydrus rose, they ached fiercely. The head weighed much more than it looked, and only three hours' past, he had taken a bit of cloth and rubbed off some of the foul grey-yellow liquid that had come from the girl's nose. Bits of brain juice, Jeromy had claimed, laughing.

He wasn't here, however, along with his pack - and they weren't even his anymore, if they ever were. Hydrus found himself missing them: Dalar and his father Dymar, Klydus with his stupid frog traps, Miles and his unmoving faithfulness, Dorond and his team of lithe scouts, Yen with his quiet loyalty, and most of all, he missed Jeromy and all the long conversations they had, perched on their tall, tall cedar tree. But despite all of that, he missed Marik and his dragon Norberta more, and the stench of rotting corpses greeted his nose with a familiarity he found disturbing.

_I am home at last, _Hydrus Malfoy thought with wry amusement, _amidst dead bodies, nailed to the wall, living in a castle ruled by a half-mad Dark Lord, dining with its ex-headmaster, hanging from the smooth-stoned ceiling._

He missed it - that much he was willing to admit.

"I have, my Lord," Hydrus told Lord Voldemort. In his very last hours spent with Hermione, the fear and trepidation had given way to a strange sort of happiness, as they talked underneath the pale sky. But now, she had boarded that ship, and he was faced with the horrible knot in his stomach, consuming all of his courage and twisting his bowels until they might have been wrung dry.

"And was it hard?"

The knot had travelled from his stomach to his throat, blocking all his feeble attempts at speech. "I… any… any act done in service to the Dark Lord is an honour."

A queer smile came upon his face. "_LEGILIMENS."_

The Dark Lord combed through his thoughts, shoving and pushing, raping his mind until there were no secrets left, until he came before the purple-red eyes that floated in Hydrus' mind, the colour of his flames.

_Please don't look further than that. Please, please, PLEASE._

The grey smoke went here and there, but it could find no way to cross. At last, the Dark Lord pulled out, leaving Hydrus with a blinding headache. "_Get. Out_."

__(O.O)__

Hydrus couldn't find Quirinus Quirrell in the castle. Instead, he came upon Marik in the cold, cold hallways, his bronze hair dishevelled, the intoxicating smell of old firewhisky floating in his wake.

A tired smile came to his face. "You're back."

_I am, and now I dance this dangerous game with the Dark Lord, having defied his direct orders. It is wonderful to be back. Absolutely wonderful, Marik._

They took a seat at the very top of the Astronomy Tower, where once, six weeks' past, Goren, Urylid, Daran and Felix might have joined them. The ledge hung over the grass, and from up high, it seemed like the fall would be half a thousand metres.

"Do you…? I realize you might want to be alone right now…"

The wind blew from north-to-south, ruffling what remained of the autumnal leaves, turned a red-gold, leaving the branches naked. Hydrus longed to tell him… to tell him all that had happened.

Everything, from his hunting trip with Klydus and Dalar and Jeromy… and Rolf, who he had killed not even six hours later. He longed to tell Marik of Dorond and Yen and Dymar and Miles and of the old crone who had no name and of the necklace of dark purple-red feathers he had worn across his throat. He longed to tell Marik of the night of the full moon, as he rode on the back of a werewolf, his legs clenched against the warm hide. He longed to tell Marik that -

_Hermione is still alive. You don't need to mourn. She's on a boat, Marik. Sailing for Canada under another identity, going to live far away from this war._

Instead, the lie came to his throat. "She begged," Hydrus found himself saying. "She begged and pleaded, but… what the Dark Lord commands I must do."

He needed something to drink. The werewolves made an exquisite blend of fermented grains and berries, but they had little on the sheer _heat_ of firewhisky.

"I'll leave you then," Marik said, his voice heavy with compassion and grief.

_He knows what I feel - what I should have felt, had I gone through with it, _Hydrus realized. _Goren and Urylid and Daran and Felix… they were people to talk to when I had no one else, but to him, they must have so much more. Their eventual demise haunts him in a way I could never claim to comprehend._

"Wait," Hydrus called. Marik turned. A million thoughts bubbled in his mind; words of sympathy and compassion and understanding, but try as he might, his mouth refused to say them. They uttered something else. "Where is Quirinus Quirrell?"

A sour, twisted look came across his face; jealousy or bitterness. "The Dark Lord sends him away frequently on _secret_ missions. You'll have better luck asking him."

Marik left, and with him went the intoxicating scent of firewhisky.

For hours and hours after his friend had left, Hydrus Malfoy sat on that ledge, staring down at the yellowed grass, a thousand metres below. Six weeks ago, when the Dark Lord had given the order to Lucius Malfoy… he had _seen_ the Patronus; a silvery wolf galloping on its way to freedom.

_Patronuses can be used to send messages,_ the half a dozen tomes had told him.

If he knew who had sent the message, then he would know who had betrayed the Dark Lord. Some part of him was scared to know - for he suspected, and it was him, of all the Death Eaters, that he grew fondest of. Should it truly be him…

_Then I will tell Lord Voldemort, for if he continues to rage in those fits of paranoia, then Draco and Daphne's safety will be in great peril._

He could feel his palms grow slick at the thought.

Hydrus wished Jeromy were here, or Miles; they were his advisors when he had nothing but cold stares from the rest of the _Animabus Igneis_, and they were the ones who had advised him on his lieutenants, picking and choosing with an efficiency no one else could have done.

More than that, he wished Hermione were here, to take his arm and lead him to the library and listen to his story. She would nod along and stay silent for a minute, before saying exactly who it was. Hermione was brilliant in that way.

"You're a witch," Hydrus had told her, standing on that hill, the morning she had left to go to the docks. "Magic and spells and charms were maybe never meant to be your expertise, but you _are_ part of the magical community, and all witches must carry a wand." He gave her the stick; fifteen inches of shiny chestnut wood. Jeromy had found it, hidden inside Hermione's bedroom. "You won't be able to do magic… but one day… when this is over…" Hydrus let his voice trail and clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Read a book for me."

That was the last he ever saw of her, smiling and waving as she walked down the grassy hills, the wind rippling her golden locks, the dawn a muted tone of purple and pink. He had felt some sort of numb sadness, watching as Miles gave one final nod before disappearing.

_But not for long, _he had told himself. _When this is over, I'll go find her and bring her back..._

_She's supposed to be dead,_ another voice protested, as he sat on the edge of the Astronomy Tower._ There is no way to bring her back to London without... without admitting that you defied the Dark Lord's order._

He realized that now. A horrible, pinched sadness went through his chest.

When Hydrus finally stood up, his legs had gone sore underneath him, and a light sniffle had developed in his nose. From up here, he could see Norberta's enclosure, rippling a purple-blue. He made his way down to his dear friend.

Quirinus Quirrell wasn't there at lunchtime, when Hydrus Malfoy made his way to the Great Hall. The Dark Lord ate in the room filled with corpses occasionally, and it would do him no good if he ran away and hid in his bedroom or with Norberta.

"Have you read the papers, my water snake?"

Lord Voldemort played host to several Death Eaters at lunch: Bellatrix Lestrange and her dark, bouncy curls tumbling down a bare shoulder, Rodolphus Lestrange, with a glum look to his face, Severus Snape and his sallow face and greasy hair, Yaxley and a new pair of flowing robes to suit his thick frame and Rowle, bearing an eerie resemblance to Aldebaran Rowle, the man who had once taught Hydrus etiquette when he was young. They shared the same grey-black hair, mottled and thick, the same elegance, but where Aldebaran greeted all with a kind smile and proper courtesy, Rowle gave him a fierce glare.

"The paper?" Hydrus asked. He should leave; the looks the Death Eaters gave him were a strong enough message.

"Come," Lord Voldemort beckoned, all smiles. The glimmer was still in his eyes; the seeds of that powerful malice that had commanded that Hydrus bring him Hermione's head. This close, it felt intoxicating and made his stomach boil with fear. "Rodolphus, make way for my water snake. Take a seat, Hydrus, and allow me to share the splendid news with you."

_No, no, no. I did not mean to intrude. Let me leave. _

But Rodolphus Lestrange had already gotten up from his chair, and threw a look filled with rage at him.

"Fifteen Dementor attacks," the Dark Lord told Hydrus when he took a tentative seat, "and over ten thousand dead. Muggles, mostly. Weak creatures. Bella was right of course; diplomacy, little threats sent to those pious Ministers signed in ink will never be as effective as true power. The witches and wizards cry for action - and Rufus Scrimgeour cowers behind walls, hidden far away, to watch as his people get slaughtered."

"To be slaughtered -?"

Realization came upon him. The Dementors were dealing the kiss to all people, their pale, rotten lips meeting to grace the mouths of muggles and wizards alike.

_At least, theirs was a painless death._

"Yes," Lord Voldemort said pleasantly. "Slaughter. We had a council planned today - for those who could make it, of course. War is such a fickle thing, and now that my _advisors_ and I have assembled - all that are competent, of course. I can't have unreliable or _submissive_ advisors by my side -"

"Quirinus Quirrell was a cowardly _pacifist_," Bellatrix declared. "His plan with the Neonates was on the low side of cunning. That potion… a fancy bit of magic, but it hardly saved your dear father, did it, little water snakey-snake?"

Hydrus had a thousand curses he wanted to inflict upon this irritating creature with heavy-lidded eyes and a personality as crazed as her thick curls, but it would be unwise to provoke the wrath of the Dark Lord, so he pushed it away.

_Quirinus Quirrell is smarter than you'll ever be. And the Dark Lord was wrong to alienate himself from him. _

"_Bella,_" came Lord Voldemort, his voice filled with reproach. "Hydrus Malfoy has proved himself to be a loyal servant."

His dark red eyes flickered to the head hammered above the Main Entrance. The golden-blonde hair had turned as lifeless and dull as the other corpses hanging from the walls, but her features remained intact, if only inhumanly pale. Decay would set in soon, by tomorrow most likely. And soon, it would be impossible to tell if the head were truly Hermione or not.

Lord Voldemort turned his gaze back to the table. "He will continue to be one, I am sure."

The threats went unsaid, but Hydrus thought he could almost see Draco Malfoy, collapsed on the white marble floor, his stomach the size of a melon, his hair floating on the ground beside him, the colour of dirty straw.

"My Lord?' came Bellatrix's simpering tone. "I thought Godric's Hollow would be an _excellent_ place to start our next series of attacks. The full moon won't be for another four weeks… but until then, your secret army… _is it ready?_"

She finished in a whisper and leaned close to the Dark Lord's arm.

"My secret army? Why, Bella. A secret should remain a secret above all."

"But _my Lord…"_

Never before had a full-grown woman sounded more like a petulant child. Hydrus watched Severus Snape, his fat, crooked nose and his thin lips, pursed into one long disapproving line. There was the same look in his eyes that he found in Quirinus Quirrell's - the sort of quiet judgement, filled with hidden secrets… _And perhaps treasons as well._

Hydrus wondered if it could have been him who had sent the Patronus. Does and wolves were a far cry from each other, but on a moonlit night, watching as a galloping four-legged creature ran off into the gloom, was there truly such a large difference between a deer and a wolf?

"It is a large army," the Dark Lord acquiesced, "but not nearly ready. More bodies will be needed. For that, the Dementors will be released."

"Can I go with them?"

"_Bella…"_

His crazed, tyrannical manner seemed to go away the more time he spent with Bellatrix Lestrange.

_That, and he is winning once more._

"My Lord," said Severus Snape, "if I may… risks must be taken… and if we wish to claim responsibility for these attacks…"

"_You see?_ Even _he_ agrees that we have spent too much time sitting on our butts, watching as the Dementors float about, doing their little kissy-kissy things."

Lord Voldemort pressed his fingers together. "Have you forgotten who is the Lord here?"

"No… no of course not, my Lord."

"Good. There will be no need to claim these attacks as ours, for the Ministry has already acknowledged as much. But nonetheless… I will not have it said that the Dark Lord relies solely on dark creatures to do his bidding. Bella, do you intend to be captured and chained like a foolish child?

A look of revulsion came upon her face. "You insult me, my Lord."

"Then assemble a team and be prepared to leave by the morrow."

That seemed to please her. Bellatrix made little comments as the Dark Lord continued, speaking of forces and countries; of the various political leaders and their aptitudes. And then, he produced a scroll from the pockets of his dark robes.

"Rufus Scrimgeour has sent terms for an exchange of hostages," Lord Voldemort added. "He wishes to have Albus Dumbledore for Lucius Malfoy and the other three Death Eaters and the remaining fifteen Neonates for Remus Lupin all of our hostages…" Lord Voldemort burned the parchment he had been reading with the tip of his wand. "Useless. Perhaps had he omitted Albus Dumbledore's name we could have gone through with the deal. Of course… I have been brokering an alliance with other potential friends… an exchange of hostages just may happen…"

The Dark Lord had a glint to his eyes; of madness and cruelty with a thousand hidden ploys lurking beyond the swirl of blood red.

_New allies?_ Hydrus wondered. _He had the Neonates as allies once. Who will they be this time? And how soon will it be before they turn their backs on him, in favour of their heads?_

Lord Voldemort seemed to be able to read his thoughts. A feral smile came upon his lips. "Worry not, my water snake. My new friends bring much more to the table than those juvenile delinquents ever will. I suppose there is one final use for Quirinus Quirrell."

__(O.O)__

There was no one there to stop him as Hydrus Malfoy walked down the stairs, carved into stone, circling down to Hogwarts' dungeon. The air grew damp here, and sometimes he could smell the lake; a watery combination of mildew and rotting fish, though he supposed that was the scent of the children.

Iron bars ran across the hallways in place of the walls, thick and sturdy, a rusted silver. Behind them…

Hydrus had dreams of this place sometimes; a month past, when he had last stayed in Hogwarts. When he closed his eyes, instead of dreaming of the Dark Lord, he dreamed of this horrible place, every little detail vividly remembered in his mind.

He saw the world in a strange way during his nightmares, as if he were nothing more than a toddler, standing a foot and a half tall, waddling down the stairs. Doorknobs and handles that might once have reached his midsection were suddenly impossibly high, and the light of the torches did not reach his eyes. But that was alright, for somehow, the world was in perfect clarity, and even though Hydrus knew it was dark and dreary in the dungeons, the world was alight with red and gold and all sorts of tones of blues and greens. It looked nothing like the grey stone walls or black sconces that he knew, but almost instinctively, he could tell where everything was.

Hydrus could smell them, in the strange, delicious way that he smelled freshly baked Treacle Tarts from the kitchens. Warm bodies and succulent flesh, a lovely meal he would feast upon.

He made his way through the colourful world, the faraway sounds of soft sobbing becoming louder and louder until they were right before him. The blood that ran through them smelled of iron and rust, but never before had something been so very delicious.

Long, thick iron bars were all that separated him from the children. They were bound at the hands at wrists, attached to metal rings along the walls. In the darkness of the night, caught in a blissful sleep, they did not see him.

His body was long but flexible, and it slipped between the iron shafts, sliding past the bodies. Some were plump, but most were thin; thin like brittle twigs who had not eaten in so very long. On and on he went, until Hydrus came upon the perfect child. He was filled with blubber, and his blood smelled particularly appetizing.

Hydrus struck, as sudden as a rearing… a rearing snake, sinking his teeth into the boy's leg.

His scream woke everyone in the dungeons, but they were powerless to stop him. Hydrus didn't think he would have noticed even if they had; the boy was simply delicious, and soon, there was nothing but yellowish bone left of him.

He always woke from his dreams then, to an empty stomach and a strong desire to retch.

_I ate him, _he had thought, after the first time it had happened. _Or was it the Dark Lord? But I chewed his muscle, swallowed his organs and devoured his fingers, one by one. And the worst part is, they were tastier than a thousand Treacle Tarts._

He had vomited after that, incapable of holding in his disgust for much longer.

But now, walking through the long hallway for himself, he saw none of those vivid colours, nor did he hunger for that fresh, sweet smell of human flesh. Relief coursed through him.

His footsteps echoed along the floor, a horrible, horrible sound. In his dreams, when he visited the dungeons and saw the world in a kaleidoscope of colour, Hydrus Malfoy did not make a single sound when he walked.

Eyes turned to look at him as he passed by, a torch in his hands. Green eyes, brown eyes, blue eyes, grey eyes - were all turned black in this dark world. Their bodies had gone thinner than the last time he had seen them in his dream-like state, with wrists as thin as a reed and bellies large as melons.

Hydrus passed by a little girl whose face had caved in on itself, the skin mottled and flaky. She looked half a corpse, but when he came closer, he saw her chest move up and down sluggishly. Too slow to keep her alive for much longer.

_Death will be a mercy for her. For all of them._

How long had the Dark Lord kept them here? Two months? Three months?

The pile of bones left in the corner of the Great Hall had been larger when Hydrus Malfoy last saw it, and there were two dozen new corpses hanging from the walls. Time seemed like such an irrelevant thing.

_You can't save them, anyway. Forget them. And move on._

Sometimes he saw empty chains, where only bones remained. The sight of them brought a queasiness to stomach unlike anything else in the world, filling him with a sense of nausea and dread.

Someone had eaten the flesh of those bones.

_They tasted delicious. _Even three weeks later, Hydrus still remembered the way that the blood had seeped into his mouth, rich and hot, and the tastiest thing he had ever drunk. Better than firewhiskey.

He forced his gaze away and moved on.

The Dark Lord kept Remus Lupin at the very end of the long hallway, against the cobblestone walls, chained at the wrists and ankles, bound with heavy metal shackles. In the harsh torchlight, his crooked arms looked like a thousand jagged knives, rimmed with red blood. They had swelled, Hydrus noticed.

Despite the orange of his torch, it was easy to see the swirl of purple-and-blue that threaded across his flesh, looking like a thousand little worms, wiggling through his skin.

His face had grown thin and haggard, and never before had his cheekbones looked starker. New, fresh, red cuts ran along his torso and legs, marring his hands and disfiguring what remained of his sallow features.

The full moon had been harsh on him.

Hydrus still remembered the night, only two days past. He wondered how Hermione was doing. Did she miss him? Did she go to sleep with nightmares of fearsome grey werewolves with rippling fur and sharp claws? Did she cry in the darkness of night, for all her friends who had died? Or did she grow numb, as Hydrus had?

Something black slithered from in between Remus Lupin's legs. Dark as midnight, with a white stripe running down its spine… What was Nagini doing here? She bared her fangs at him, and then… a sound came from her mouth, a coarse, hissing whisper, that sounded ever-so familiar.

"_Come to sssssee the werewolf yourssssself, Hydrussss Malfoy?"_

He stared at the snake, watching as it came precariously close to his feet. Panic filled his chest - the serpent was the Dark Lord's familiar, as much as Norberta was his. If he could understand Nagini… what did it mean?

"I…" he began, but only a strange, hissing sound came from his lips.

Remus Lupin stirred then, his eyes blinking open lazily as he saw the bright golden flames of Hydrus' torch. The look in his eyes was of hunger and fear and thirst and agony… and _insanity_. They were the brown of caramel, but glazed and unfocused, tinted with malnourishment and senile.

Nagini turned her large head to Remus Lupin, before slithering off to a dark corner and curling upon herself. "_Go on. The Dark Lord hassss had no more luck than you."_

He couldn't say why he was doing this. The Dark Lord had rammed into the werewolf's mind a thousand times over, to find nothing. Hydrus shouldn't have been able to do much more than him.

_He doesn't know what I do._

"What is your Patronus?"

Remus Lupin blinked.

Hydrus had spent three weeks with werewolves, watching as they hunted, watching as they faced strangers with suspicion and a frigidness unlike anything else in the world. Nothing to them was more important than three things: power, loyalty and obedience. Those traits… they were as prevalent in wolves as werewolves.

_A Patronus is the animal-form of a person's spirit, _the book had written, _made from thoughts of love and joy. _

It would only be fitting if a werewolf had the Patronus of a wolf.

Hydrus thought back to the night, as he had stood on that balcony, his fingers twitching, for he had known, somehow, who cast that spell. _For a moment, it looked like a wolf, galloping on its way to freedom._

"It was you," Hydrus said, with growing certainty. "But how?"

A croaking noise came from Remus Lupin's mouth, and his chains began to tremble as his chest puffed up and down. It was laughter, he realized belatedly. It was laughter that came from his crazed mouth, broken and half-mad.

The shackles laughed with him, clattering with their sharp, metallic sounds, echoing over and over again in the dark, dark dungeons, mingling with the faraway moans of the prisoners.

He looked around Remus Lupin, studying the grey cobblestone walls, turned black in this horrible place, looking at the floor; a combination of hay, mud and feces. Patronuses were almost impossible to cast - and that was with a wand. The Dark Lord had snapped the werewolf's wand.

How would he have gotten another?

Lord Voldemort had commanded that the house-elves… what was it? That they… _tend to his wounds and use no magic to heal him._ He had never said anything about supplying the prisoner beyond his basic needs.

_I told him, _Hydrus found himself thinking. _I told him he should have replaced these house-elves with my own. We took their home and killed their masters. Of course they'll do anything possible to rebel against our cause._

The torch had almost guttered out. A dim, red-orange flame persisted, just barely enough to see Remus Lupin's sallow face.

"Come, Nagini," Hydrus said. A queer calmness had washed over him. "We're going to tell the Dark Lord how the Order knew of our movements."

* * *

**A/N:**

**This is a fairly short chapter for today, I guess you could say to balance out the absolute monster that last week's was. I'm not very happy with the pace of this chapter, nor with the events, but I'm trying to wrap stuff up with Part 2... and we'll see how this goes.**

**I think there will be at least five chapters before Part 2 officially ends... and after that... I'll start writing Part 3, which should wrap up this entire fanfic.**

**Special thanks to KingZeRopL for taking the time to review my story!**

**Yep that Hermione-Hydrus interaction was fun to read and funner still to write :) Next chapter we'll even have some Daphne _and_ Draco interaction (though not at the same time). *****excited noises***

**As always, thanks to everyone who took the time to read this week's chapter, and I hope to see you all again next week!**

**Bye :)**


	34. Chapter 34

Another body joined Albus Dumbledore on the ceiling, with arms as jagged as the teeth of a serrated knife, a face as pale as moonlight.

"Your intellect never ceases to astound me, my water snake," the Dark Lord praised. He turned his gaze to Marik. "And where are the house-elves?"

He dragged them forth, their little hands bound at the wrists, their hairy feet shackled at the ankles. Chains rattled between them all, silver-gold in the rising sun.

The entirety of the Inner Circle watched the procession, some with eyes bleary from sleep. Dark robes cradled their frames, all but Narcissa, who sat at the very end of the High Table, as far as one could be from Hydrus. Her garments were green and silver, her cheeks a warm pink. Black hair with thick strands of white fell to her waist, and whenever Hydrus made the mistake of looking over at her, Narcissa's eyes would turn reflective.

He made sure not to look at her very often.

It proved to be difficult; as he stood off to the side of the Great Hall, his eyes had a mind of their own, wandering over to his ex-mother.

"Twenty-three house-elves, sworn to me," the Dark Lord said ponderously. "And how many of you _helped that werewolf?"_

They were tiny, ragged creatures, with pale skin and floppy ears and brown eyes filled with defiance. But they were bound by magic to answer all questions truthfully. Hydrus could see them shifting, trying to find ways to answer as vaguely as possible, but it would do them no good. By lunchtime, all would be dead, hammered to the walls.

It took three _Crucio's_ upon the first house-elf before one named Jilly broke down in tears and confessed his sins before the Inner Circle, collapsing onto the ground and pounding her fists on the marble floor. Her chains rattled with the noise. "_He begged… you never commanded me otherwise… master…"_

The Dark Lord looked over all of them with disgust. He waved his hand and Jilly continued to cry and bang her hands, only silently. "Mongrel. You are my Justiciar, as you were to Peter Pettigrew, are you not?"

He raised his tanned face, as thin as could be, seeming almost one with the corpses hanging from the walls, in varying stages of decay. The leather thong hung at his throat, parched and crackled, stained with bits of brown and red and yellow. Hydrus didn't want to know what liquids they were.

"Of course, master," came the beast's voice, as broken as his collar. He did not speak often, if at all. Sometimes he asked Hydrus to see his 'pretty golden flames', but when he saw the alien dark red-purple hues that glittered on his palm, he had run away screaming.

"Excellent. Take care of these prisoners."

In the corner of the Great Hall, surrounded by a sea of bones, the Mongrel shifted and stood up. Nothing in the world looked half as unappealing as a starved man, naked, his hair dirty with bits of flesh and pale brown insects that squirmed here and there. Maggots, Hydrus knew them to be, fond of the bones the Dark Lord often gifted the Mongrel.

Two fingers were missing on the beast's right hand, but it made little difference as he clawed at the house-elf's face. Dirty yellow nails tore through flesh with ease, and soon, blood had found its way once more onto the white marble floors of the Great Hall, thick and red, glowing a golden yellow to suit the morning sun.

Chains rattled, a mutt screamed, and not a single Death Eater dared look away until all were dead. The house-elves had shrieked as well, but that was only two of them; the rest stood silent and proud, defiance brimming in their eyes until the bitter end. Hydrus found himself wishing he could inspire such loyalty.

Unbidden, his eyes looked to the ceiling, where a pale body hung from an intricate network of intertwined ropes, pale whiskers clinging to a chin with a ferocity and perseverance almost akin to the house-elves. Albus Dumbledore was many things, Hydrus supposed, but inspiring must have come first and foremost.

_He has even made me question my devotion to the Dark Lord_.

Hydrus wanted to laugh, only he heard the Headmaster's voice beat through his head. "_And one must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives."_

Shivers ran down his back instead.

When the last of the screams faded away, they were replaced with a loud banging, echoing throughout the castle. Rusted nails, coated with bits of flesh and blood and other strange liquids Hydrus did not want to know, were driven into the small skulls of the house-elves, pinning their arms and legs to the tapestries, letting their blood run cold across the weavings. It stained the fabric until it seemed as if they were always meant to be red. The Mongrel's hammer beat a steady rhythm, and soon, twenty-three new corpses had been welcomed to the wall of fame.

Their skin had already gone pale grey, and the despicable odour of feces came into the room, to acquaint itself with the ever-present scent of rot. Even Hydrus found himself wrinkling his nose. Lunch was out of the question for today.

"Thank you, Mongrel," the Dark Lord said, when the mutt had set down the blood-splattered hammer and kneeled before the High Table. "And greater thanks must be made to my water snake. It is not often that such intellect and wit are present amongst my followers. Your aid has been paramount to this service of justice. In return, you may ask anything in the world, and I shall grant it to you."

_I want to take Daphne and Draco and find a ship to sail across the Atlantic Ocean. I want to buy a house and live with my house-elves, my brother, my ex-betrothed and my best friend. I want to be happy. I want to take Marik with me as well. And Jeromy. And Norberta. And I want to know what that secret army is, and who is your secret ally. And I want to know where Quirinus Quirrell is. Buy him a house, maybe. Somewhere far away. I think he would like that. _

But he could not say those words. There was a glint to the Dark Lord's eyes; a bright, virulent red, as dangerous as burning fire and just as unruly.

_I have succeeded where he has failed. The Dark Lord does not forget. He breaks his oaths and forsakes his promises, but he does not forget. And one day, I will feel the consequences for what I ask. Think, Hydrus Malfoy, and choose your words wisely._

The Mongrel had retreated to the side of the Great Hall, standing in line with the new row of corpses. Hydrus knelt where the beast had kneeled, feeling the blood soak through his Acromantula silk robes. They were black, luckily, and would not show the stain. "My Lord," he began, careful to keep his gaze on the marble floor, turned a pale pink from the blood, "I ask that you release Draco and Daphne from their status as a hostage. They are very dear to me, and their freedom would bring me great joy."

"_Is my hospitality not enough?"_

_I should have addressed him as _master.

The slight rang in the air. Hydrus could feel the eyes on him; sixteen pairs, and more, watching, waiting, seeing what words would come through his mouth. The anger from the Dark Lord spewed forth, hot like fire, wild as a summer storm. "Of - of course not, my Lord. Only… my mother has grown sad and weary, and… if her son could be with her… she could be much happier."

"Her _son_. That is only one of two people. What of Daphne Greengrass?"

"She… she…" Hydrus could feel his cheeks grow warm. "She is close to my brother. There is a familiarity between them… reassurance… I…"

"So you would have me release two hostages, paramount to our deal with Kingsley Shacklebolt.?"

_Oh, but there won't be an exchange. Not a true one at least._

Hydrus took a deep breath. "There won't be an exchange of hostages, master."

"Really?"

He lifted his head, emboldened by Lord Voldemort's tone. "No. It's a trap for the Order."

"Do you pride yourself on your intellect, Hydrus Malfoy?"

"Only when it serves you."

A queer smile came to his lipless mouth. "And it should. Draco and Daphne will be released, and given the freedom of the castle, along with any other necessities they shall require. And your mother. There are many rooms inside of Hogwarts, I am sure one may be provided to her. Oh, of course, since I have no more house-elves, it seems yours, Narcissa, should do a fine job of replacing what is lost. Send them to me before lunch."

"I…" Hydrus began.

_Shut up you witless fool._

"Is there anything you'd like to say, Hydrus Malfoy?"

"Only… only that my mother is a gentle soul; she will appreciate the unique scenery on the castle grounds."

The Dark Lord smiled once more. "I am sure she will." He rose from his blackwood and obsidian throne. "Our new allies will be here in a week. We should make ourselves presentable. In the meanwhile, I welcome you, Narcissa Malfoy, to Hogwarts. The castle has been made brighter by your presence."

The Dark Lord strode from the Great Hall, his long, black robes swirling at his feet like wisps of dark smoke.

Hydrus watched him leave, still kneeled on the pinkish marble floor, his knees sore and stiff, a horrible acidic taste in his mouth.

The Dark Lord had released Draco and Daphne, but if they were not allowed to leave, then Lord Voldemort had made them all but prisoners with Narcissa. Only when the door swung shut and the Death Eaters began to move did Hydrus' ex-mother walk over.

Up close, he could see her distress, as her eyes turned shimmery and reflective, and as her mouth pursed into a straight, thin line. She waited until the entirety of the Inner Circle had left before speaking to him. Narcissa looked half-dead, Hydrus decided. Bags and paleness and thin faces could be hidden under a glamour, but eyes were another matter entirely.

"Have you seen you brother?" she asked, sounding just as lifeless as the house-elves hanging from the walls

_Oh, I have, mother. He was pale, and his arms were so thin they could not support the weight of his head. His hair had been yellow like piss, brown with mud and thin like the hope you must feel right now. It came from his scalp in tufts of grey and floated to the floor. His belly had been swollen like a melon; a pale melon. A pale, white winter melon, perhaps. The Dark Lord has been feeding him human flesh. I doubt that will change. Do you enjoy human flesh, mother? Well, your wants and needs do not matter anymore. I am sorry. For this, and for a thousand other things. I'll find you a room on the seventh floor, far away from the screams. It won't be nearly enough compensation for all I've done, but at least you'll sleep easier during the night, if at all._

"Yes," Hydrus told her.

"Is he… has the Dark Lord…?"

"He's alive," Hydrus told her at last. He began to walk away. "I'll find you a room on the seventh floor. They're the furthest away from the screams."

__(O.O)__

Draco Malfoy looked the same as Hydrus had last seen him, with a belly round like a white winter melon, arms like twigs and hair like fluffy clouds, falling to the floor as he raised his head. The hallway rang with muffled sobs and croaking screeches, but Draco made no noise. He looked at Hydrus, and then lowered his head.

The room was spotless, no doubt from the work of the house-elves who no longer lived. Fresh sheets had been laid, the desk shone like polished silver, and the carpet underfoot looked new and unused. Someone had even placed a handful of flowers into a glass vase.

Red lilies they were, and pink carnelians. Some white daisies and blue moonflowers, and a sprig of thyme. Hydrus recognized them all from Belvina Black's funeral.

He wanted to run to his brother and wrap his arms around his feeble neck and whisper that the world would be alright and that he could eat food now; _real_ food, not human flesh. He wanted to whisper that his mother was here and that she would take good care of him. Yet the words died in his throat, and instead, Hydrus found himself speaking in a monotone. "The Dark Lord has commanded that you be released from captivity. Another room has been readied for you on the seventh floor."

Draco Malfoy looked to the ceiling, his thin, thin body lying on his fresh covers, his clothes soiled and dirty. "Milly didn't come this morning."

"Milly?"

His voice came out lighter than a whisper. "The house-elf."

_She's dead, Draco. Along with all the others._ "She…"

"Is she dead?" He didn't sound the least bit surprised, only sad. "She once told me that the Dark Lord would kill her if he knew what she did. Milly snuck me food when she could and refused to let me eat the meat… she put those flowers there as well… to remind me that there was hope in the world…"

"I can bring them if you'd like."

"No…" came Draco's voice. "I don't… don't want to leave…"

A nasty bout of coughs came upon him then, and as he wheezed, his entire body shook. More of his hair came out, raining across his white pillow like yellowed snow.

As he hacked, Hydrus scooped him up. Draco did little to protest - his arms writhed feebly and his legs did their best to kick, but for once, Lord Black stood taller than him and carried his brother as if he were no more than a baby. They climbed six flights of stairs together, and on the seventh floor, Hydrus nudged open the door to a bedroom and lay Draco down.

The bed seemed to swallow him, and when Hydrus pulled a blanket over his brother, he disappeared from view, with only a pale face and bunches of grey-yellow hair to be seen.

"I'll go get the flowers," Lord Black said when the silence had gotten unbearably long.

When he returned, Draco had fallen into an uneasy slumber.

Hydrus took one last look at the room, closed the drapes and made sure the window had been firmly locked. Grief was a strange thing, and it did strange things to people. He didn't want to know what would happen to Narcissa if her last son jumped through a window moments before she would meet for the first time in… three months? Or had it been four?

_More importantly, _I _don't know what I'll do if he hurls himself from the seventh floor of the castle. _

He shut the door behind him as he went, passing by the entrance to the Gryffindor Common Room as he walked down the long hallway. The portrait had been yanked off the wall, burned, Hydrus assumed. Before, there had been… there had a pig-woman of some sort, hadn't there been?

On the day they took Hogwarts, she had swung open for them, and not even two feet from the entrance, Lord Black had loosed a quarrel into the heart of some sixth-year girl who chanced to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

_I cried for her, _he remembered, _only, what I gave her that day was mercy. Had she lived, and been a muggle-born, the girl would be slaughtered regardless. A half-blood or a pureblood, and she would be condemned to live in a cell, eating human flesh, reduced to a half-insane, quivering skeleton with a swollen belly and thin arms._

It was strange; Hydrus could not remember her face. No more than he could remember the features of the woman he shot down a little while after he drew a line across Neville Longbottom's throat. Or had it been before? He found it hard to remember anything that went on during that night.

Not that it made any difference. What had happened had happened and now Hydrus wanted to do nothing else but behind that purple-blue dome and stroke Norberta's heads. Instead, his feet brought him down another six flights of stairs and before the second room to the left, where the door had been opened.

He could hear a house-elf speaking, their voice high-pitched and kind. "You must drink, Miss Greengrass…"

"No…" Daphne's voice whispered, weak as could be.

He couldn't stand hovering before the door. Hydrus stepped through the doorway and regretted it immediately.

Daphne had grown thin. Not as thin as Draco, but sickly still, with narrow arms and a face as sharp and bony as a starved victim could be. Someone had dressed her in a fresh pair of green robes, but they hung on her corpse like ragged seaweed, wrinkled and uncomely, only serving to make her look weaker than she truly was.

Her eyes had changed, and that Hydrus noticed above all. Once they might have been blue like a clear summer sky. Now they were dull and grey, as dead to the world as the corpses hanging from the walls in the Great Hall, not yet rotting, nor swarmed by maggots, but in a week…

They turned sharp the moment they saw Hydrus. A guzzling sound came from her throat as if Daphne were choking. "_You_," she managed to say, before dissolving into a fit of coughs.

He did his best to ignore the pain in his chest and turned to the house-elf. A floppy-eared creature wrapped in a tea towel, he stood a little over three feet tall, carrying a metal tray laden with all sorts of potions and salves and bits of food. Hydrus recognized him. That was Girgham, the house-elf who took charge of cleaning the bedrooms back in Malfoy Manor.

He must have recognized Lord Black, for he gave a squeak and set down the tray. "Hydrus - you - you look… you have _grown_."

_Yes, I suppose I have._

Girgham seemed to remember himself at the last moment. "Girgham has a new master… but…" He lowered his voice. "Is there aught Girgham might do for Hydrus Malfoy?"

_Yes, _he wanted to say. _Leave, and let me feed Daphne the potions, and carry her in my arms to her new room as I held Hermione as we raced on Jeromy's back. _

The words would not make themselves be heard. His chest, his _heart_ above all, kept remembering the look on her face - the disgust and the _anger_, despite how thin she had grown and how frail she might be. The tone of her voice, _the way she had looked at him_ \- as if she wanted to strangle him there and then, her thin fingers to grapple themselves around his neck.

"Continue," Hydrus told Girgham. He could feel his heart crumbling. "I did not mean to intrude."

__(O.O)__

Narcissa cried often. She did a good job of hiding it, but Hydrus knew her better than those glamours; breakfast especially, he could see the pinkness in her eye, like watered blood.

Today, above all, she sniffled and shifted her fork around, staring at her plate. She must have gone to see Draco for the first time. Hydrus had done his best to stop her, using every possible thing from bribes to the house-elves and trying to distract Narcissa by showing her Norberta, but a mother's love was perseverant.

She raised her head then, and a tumble black-and-silver hair fell to the small of her back. "Tell me truly, Hydrus. When this is over, what will become of my son?"

"The Dark Lord rewards loyalty…"

"His stomach…" she whispered. "I have never seen anything quite like it… He has gone insane, Hydrus. My… my son… All he ever does is sleep and moan, and when he is awake he asks for a woman. Who is this Milly who was there for him when I could never be?"

Her eyes had gone the colour of burnished copper in the morning sun, twinkling and shimmering and bright with tears.

_Milly is a house-elf. And she is over there. You are facing her. She's one of the bodies hanging from the walls, shrivelled and tiny, for death makes all of us insignificant - even the greatest._ "You're here now," Hydrus told her awkwardly. "And that… that is important…"

"Is it? When I go to his room and try to spoon broth into his mouth, my son… my Draco… he does not move. He asks for Milly… for a woman I have never known. He asks for flowers as well. Those are the only things he will ever raise his head for. Flowers. Pink and purple, he tells me, for the joy and beauty of Milly. Who is this Milly, a woman I have never known? Who is this Milly, who has taken care of my son when it should have been me? Who is this Milly who stroked his head and fed him food when I can do naught but watch as he crumbles? Who, who, who, Hydrus?"

The tears had begun flowing down her face long ago, but a fresh torrent came free, glistening from the sunlight that filtered through the room. They looked like molten silver, burning a laborious path of beauty and devastation.

"Draco will live," Hydrus told her. The rest, he could not be certain. "And he will see the end of this war."

A strangled sob escaped her throat. "And what of his father? Of my husband? I told him… all those years past… this was folly… he should not have… never have joined the Dark Lord… his place was with me and my son, far away from the war…"

_Shush, now, woman. Before Lord Voldemort hears your words._

"I have lost a husband," Narcissa continued to wail, "and I will soon lose a son. The Dark Lord has robbed me of my house-elves, and has stolen my final mercy: to die in my ancestral home… Take me to the cottage by the sea… the one you inherited… Andy loved it there, and even Bella would smile by the water. Let me rest… for I have grown too weary for this world."

Hydrus stared at her, this woman he had once called a mother. Her eyes had gone red once more, and she sniffled with every other word. There was no pureblood dignity to her - no dignity at all; no more than the prisoners rotting in the dungeons, or the hostages who had gone half-insane.

"No," he told Narcissa.

"_No?"_ Her fingers found themselves clasped around his robes, pulling and shaking with a madness only found in a grieving mother. "_Please. _For the love you bear me -"

"No. You _will_ see the end of this war, and you _will_ see Lucius one more time, and you _will_ see Draco, fit and hale and filled with youth. I command it, as Lord Black."

Narcissa fell to her knees, and then rolled to the floor, shaking and quivering and crying. She hiccuped and sniffled, wept and sobbed, but when Hydrus gave her a hand, she latched on fiercely and let him draw her back up.

__(O.O)__

The sky had turned into a wondrous murder scene when the envoys came, a bright crimson and hues of purple-blue, as if the body had been strangled to death. Clouds turned into an ashy grey, the sun a distant splotch of yellow.

The Inner Circle was in attendance today, seated around a long table with four gaping holes where Lucius, Nott, Crabbe and Goyle might have sat. Quirinus Quirrell sat with them, his head as round and spotless as a duck egg. He looked the same as Hydrus had last seen him, with a face as apathetic as a cold, blistering wind. A splendid meal had been assembled for dinner; roasted ducks and poached fish, mashed potatoes served with gravy, goose stuffed with lemons and thyme, pork basted with butter. Tarts and scones lined the edges of the table, and Tilden had placed fresh tallow candles in their golden holsters; the smell of lavender and thyme floated across the Great Hall, mingling with the scent of rotting corpses and death.

_If death ever wore perfume, this would be the scent._

The envoys, to their credit, didn't wrinkle their noses or pass out from the smell. Twelve men they were, all with dark blue robes, an embroidered symbol on their breasts: an eagle, holding a flag of red and white stripes and silver stars on a field of blue, surrounded by a border of gold.

The words _Magical Congress of the United States of America_ had been stitched into the ring.

Hydrus studied the twelve men, watching as they smiled and nodded throughout five courses of beef and pigeon and turkey, their teeth radiant and pretty. They drank the Dark Lord's words with grace and poise and complemented each Death Eater in turn.

_I have sent Hermione to Canada. Too close to MACUSA. Too, too close by half. I should have sent her to Australia or South Africa. Not where MACUSA is only next door. If the war should be brought there..._

He wondered if he had sent his friend to certain death.

"Your skill with magic is beaten by few, Madame Lestrange," the one with skin dark as midnight said. "And you, Hydrus Malfoy, your power with fire is a legend even across the ocean."

In turn, Hydrus said some pleasantry and gave a dutiful smile.

When the food had been cleared away, the one who sat at the Dark Lord's right-hand side - his name was Rangil or something of that sort - stood.

"Our alliance will be the start of a new era," he declared. "Our friendship will be prosperous, and I - _we -_ cannot wait to begin."

_Prosperous it would be, until the Dark Lord had won all of Europe and would turn his eyes across the ocean and to North America. Then he will turn on you, and destroy your ranks, leaving nothing but destruction and desolation. Prosperous. But only for him._

And yet, Hydrus was sure Rangil and all of MACUSA knew. His eyes were dark blue like a summer lake, and they missed nothing that went on. Behind an easy smile were wits unlike anything else.

"Yes," said the Dark Lord. "Be welcome to our table and our castle. We will be good allies, I am sure. Long years of peace and cooperation, filled with… prosperity…"

"The coming months will be difficult, I have no doubt," Rangil continued, with a nod to the Dark Lord, "and many lives will be lost, but in the end, what is right will prevail, and what is true will come through. Dinner is no place to discuss tactics, and yet I am most curious about your… plan. We here at MACUSA have long wondered why you would accept to exchange Albus Dumbledore for Lucius Malfoy… of course, we have our suspicions…"

The Dark Lord laughed his dangerous, evil laugh. "Your spies must be capable."

"The best."

Hydrus could feel Lord Voldemort's irritation, coming from his dark red eyes in droves of crimson fury.

"For long weeks now, Rufus Scrimgeour has been sending letters and messages and all sorts of writings, trying to convince me to exchange hostages… Lucius has always been a close friend and advisor, but we must do what is better for the collective. Albus Dumbledore is more important than my friend, I am afraid."

"How many of our Aurors will you require?"

_How many of our Aurors will you require, master? _Would have been the proper way to address him. Hydrus could see the displeasure in the crease of his mottled grey skin.

"Five thousand," the Dark Lord said, a certain vehemence to his voice.

Rangil gave a gracious nod. "Of course."

The night had grown dark when the envoys left the Great Hall, shown to their room by Quirinus Quirrell and his smooth head.

"Three weeks," the Dark Lord had told Rangil and his company. "Three weeks and then the exchange shall take place. With luck, this pointless war will need not go on for much longer."

"Of course," said Rangil, his hair nodding with him as he bowed. "MACUSA is delighted to aid you in your cause."

_A battle to be fought in three weeks from now, with the alliance of a country halfway across the ocean. How will this go? _

His eyes drifted to where Albus Dumbledore hung, pale and thin, as dead to the world as the corpses hanging from the walls.

"_And one must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives…"_

The Dark Lord sat on his blackwood and obsidian throne, with Nagini curled at his feet. His face was smooth and seamless, as elegant as could be. But there was a fire in his eyes; a bloodlust Hydrus had spent so long denying its existence. Cruelty, it was. An insatiable appetite for revenge and death.

_I am him, and he is me. It _was _me that ate the human flesh all those nights ago, tasting the sweet blubber and digging my fangs into the meat. And I loved it._

* * *

**A/N:**

**As promised, here is the Daphne-Hydrus and Draco-Hydrus interaction!**

**These chapters are getting shorter and shorter as I go, and the next one, as you can imagine, will be filled with action and character deaths and much more interesting stuff than the contents of this chapter. Though I will say writing that middle bit where Hydrus tries to talk to Draco was very _very_ fun, along with the despair of his exchange with Daphne. Favourite part is Hydrus lending a hand to Narcissa. That becomes important later *hint hint***

**As I was writing this week I kinda realized just how many plot points and minor characters that have suddenly *poofed* throughout the narrative because I forgot about them. There's Marcus Flint, Theodore Nott, Pansy Parkinson, Hannah Abbott and a ton of other students that originally in Part 1 mean a lot (or at least are familiar) to him that literally do not get mentioned **_at all _**in Part 2. Yikes I have to work on consistency. Or maybe I'll cut a lot of these side characters and reduce them to random passersbys in the background.**

**Now that I think of it, the entire subplot with Hydrus and Marcus happening in Chapter 18 (still can't believe I did that) was written because I had no idea what else to fill the page with. Even thinking about it makes me wanna cringe.**

**Special thanks to KingZeRopL for taking the time to review my story!**

**Yes Hydrus is indeed spiralling down towards something unpleasant made up of self-loathing and some less-than-stellar adult role models. Writing this fanfic I keep forgetting just how young he is. Man I did _not_ think this through.**

**As always, thanks to everyone who took the time to read my fanfic, and I hope to see you all next week!**

**Bye :)**


	35. Chapter 35

The tree stood on a lone hill, tall as a tower, with a trunk as thick as a hundred pines, its branches bare against the late autumnal wind. It shivered and howled in the darkness of night, blowing in restless gales and puffs.

Hydrus could feel his black cloak dance with the breeze and tugged it tighter around himself.

There were eyes - eyes as small as berries or as large as pinecones - watching him. Studying him. Seeing through the layers and layers of glamour that had been charmed all over his robes. The blackwood tree shone like obsidian with the silver moon, but other than that, there was little to hide behind. Rolling plains circled the area for miles and miles, but there were no other trees in sight, no more than rocks or shrubs or ferns.

Quirinus Quirrell had charmed his feet to be silent and him to be invisible, but even with that, Hydrus couldn't help but feel as if his every step sent whispers into the dark grass, turned to screams in the eerie silence.

The Order had chosen the place; a collection of desolate hills and fields, far away from any residence - wizard or muggle. In terms of tactical defenses, there were none. Of course, the entire thing might have been wrapped in a thousand layers of wards and illusions and mirages, and Hydrus wouldn't have put it past the Ministry to do so. They would have no way of knowing until Rufus Scrimgeour struck.

For three weeks, they had drawn battle plans and moved wooden-carved pieces across maps, trying and trying some more to find a way to cut the head off the snake with the least bit of damage possible. Rangil had walked along the length of the Great Hall, his dark blue robes embroidered with bright white and reds, his boots black like ink. His eyes were sharp and saw behind lies, and it was him who had come with the idea.

The Dark Lord had not liked it one bit - that much was easy to see - but he had nodded and played the gracious host and feasted the twelve envoys across three long weeks.

Rangil had explained his idea half a dozen times, but Hydrus could not help but think _what if they send some lowly kitchen rat to collect this ransom?_

Marik had frowned and stroked his chin and told him that he ought not worry - the Ministry knew already it was to be a feint and that they were all going in knowing there would be a battle of some sort. Yet his stomach had clenched, for the last time the Dark Lord had gambled with fate, he had lost his network of spies.

_Along with five Death Eaters and Felix, Urylid, Goren and Darian._

Dawn would come in a few hours, and with it the ensuing battle. Why the Dark Lord had even brought Hydrus here, he could not say. Perhaps he meant to make him see the devastation and horror of what would become to those who defied his fule. Perhaps he meant to have him killed as the battle raged. Perhaps - the reason did not matter, for Lord Voldemort had commanded that everyone be present in these hilly lands, crouched under layers of glamours and disguises, awaiting morning.

Marik huddled somewhere on the north side, almost opposite to where Hydrus stood, a black cloak pulled low over his eyes, a bronze mask on his face. The last of the Neonates, as the Death Eaters had taken to calling him.

His left hand had become more and more deft as time went on, but weeks of training could not make up for years of work. It could swirl and twist, shooting spells better than Hydrus ever would, but that meant little.

Somewhere beyond, crouched in perfect formation in the tall grass, Rangil and his promised five thousand Aurors would be waiting, their robes dark blue like calm waters, their faces focused and black, their eyes bright and alert. Hydrus wondered if they felt fear; fear of death, fear of injury, fear of losing.

Only he thought he knew the answer. The Aurors were quiet and stern-faced and none had spoken out of line. They had stood in rows of fifty, five thousand units in all, awaiting the Dark Lord's command, their backs tall and straight, their chins lifted, their wands at the ready.

Hydrus had once heard tales of military Aurors, called the Ribalsky Squadron, who assembled in ranks and would have held their breath until the bitter end if their commander had ordered it be done. Across the ocean, in Great Britain, Cornelius Fudge had laughed at the idea of toy soldiers to do the biddings of politicians, and would make jokes of the Americans at any given chance. Perhaps if the man - if all of the Ministers, from now to a thousand years' past - had accepted MACUSA's declaration for independence with grace, then the president Clentil would not have been so quick to latch onto Quirinus Quirrell's proposition.

Some said that the queer order of military Aurors were inspired by their muggle counterparts, who wore green-brown uniforms and toiled under heat and sun to wage war on foreign countries. Others told a darker story. Marik had whispered it to him one night, as they sat on the rooftops of the Astronomy Tower. The Ribalsky Squadron who followed every command with grace and without hesitation were strung with strings made of dark sorcery and blood-magic, their brains warped with spells and potions until they had no other thought but duty and obeisance.

Hydrus had not dared ask Rangil or any of the other eleven envoys, but as he watched the five thousand men from afar, he could not help but wonder…

When he had asked who the Ribalsky owed their allegiance to, Marik had grimaced before saying, "Not the Dark Lord."

Hydrus' feet had gotten cramped from standing for so long, so he began to pace. Not very far, and for not very long. A figure appeared in the night sky, whistling towards the blackwood tree on a broomstick, a cloak as dark as the clouds streaming from his shoulders.

The sound grew louder and louder, the distant shapes becoming more and more clear until they could see them arrive, not one as Hydrus had thought, but two-score of forty, knifing through the air with grace.

They landed half a dozen yards from the top of the hill, their faces growing stark with the sunrise.

A minute passed, then five, and then ten, and then half an hour, as the sky grew bright and whorls of colour danced with the clouds. All the while, the Inner Circle stood still and silent, crouched amidst the tall grass, waiting, watching as members of the Order and of the Ministry descend from their brooms, re-shackle the Neonates and Death Eaters, talking in hushed voices, grown to the sound of screams in the morning silence.

Hydrus could see Lucius, his silvery hair chopped and ripped, until they looked like yellow-brown spikes atop his pale face, his robes clean and fresh. Only, he was quite sure none of the wizards present were the actual captives. The Dark Lord had not brought any of the hostages, least of all Albus Dumbledore. Merlin forbid the wizened wizard find a burst of magic and attack the Death Eaters as the battle went on

Kingsley Shacklebolt, with a patch over his eye and a trench coat made of dark brown cotton looked over the hills, his skin glimmering like bronze with the morning sun. "_I know you're here,_" he called. "_And I know we agreed on an exchange of captives, but I doubt you're gonna be doing this fairly. Come on out, Death Eaters. I haven't got all day."_

Quirinus Quirrell stood as his last words faded into the wind. He rippled into view, small and insignificant against the rolling hills.

Kingsley Shacklebolt spat at his feet. "There are more of you, hiding in this hill like little black ants. Show yourselves, cowards, and we just might give you an honourable death."

_Three, _the breeze seemed to whistle.

_Two, _the grass whispered.

"_One,"_ said Quirinus Quirrell, flicking his wand.

And suddenly, a flash of light raced towards Kingsley Shacklebolt, the bright green of fresh summer leaves. The Auror, for all his bravado, was quick. He swished his wand, and the jet of light rebounded, flying off to the far distance, setting fire to the dry yellow grass in the hills.

Hydrus realized he had been holding in his breath. He let it loose, as the shackles on the wrists of the captives disappeared and their glamours wore off, until a myriad of Aurors stood before the blackwood tree, wands at the ready.

Flashes of light came flying through the sky, heralding the start of a new day. Some struck the invisible Ribalsky Squadron, or blasted the Death Eaters hidden in the tall grass, shooting them to the sky, setting them afire, knocking their entrails to the ground, as their limbs flailed about.

Hydrus ducked at the last moment, as an arc of bright blue light came whizzing at his head. He could feel his heart begin to pump, his hands grow sweaty and gross, his legs tingle with anticipation, ready to run after an invisible opponent, to shoot a quarrell into their unseeable stomach, to set their hair afire.

His feet led him away as he brushed across the back of an invisible wizard. Friend or foe, he did not know, yet it could not have been Marik who fought on the opposite, nor could it have been Quirinus Quirrell who dueled Kingsley Shacklebolt at the foot of the blackwood tree, so he willed his flames to life and pressed them against the robes.

A piercing scream raced across the air, met with the crackling sound of burned flesh and the smell of roasted beef.

The flames had devoured the man in purple-red, and it was impossible to tell on whose side he had fought. It did not matter, for from the sky, flying on broomsticks, were tiny black ants, growing larger and larger by the moment, whistling through the early morning clouds.

A hundred, they might have been, or five hundred or a thousand, but the cluster grew so big and great that it looked as if a thousand storks were migrating south for the winter. Only, they came in a fierce array of colour, their wands shooting curses and spells, screaming in half a dozen tongues, but one word rang clear.

"_DUMBLEDORE,"_ they cried, their throats hoarse and dry. "_DUMBLEDORE."_

Hydrus stopped to watch. The battle raged on, as a wizard ran by, blinking in and out of view, blood and guts dripping from his stomach, sobbing and screaming as he went. A torn mask flew right by his face, cutting Hydrus' cheek with its jagged edge, but he wiped the blood away, not quite feeling the pain.

Cloaks streamed from their shoulders - the great storks flying from the sky - pale blue as fire, stitched with threads of gold until they seemed to glimmer like shiny galleons. "_DUMBLEDORE,"_ they continued to cry, and for every time they said the man's name, a flurry of spells would come flying from their wands, a hundred different colours, hitting the invisible Ribalsky, severing heads and exploding corpses, until the dry, yellow grass had been set afire, and flames burst to life.

They burned orange and red, gold and carnelian, to match the rising sun.

And closer they came, closer and closer, until Hydrus realized that they were not simply a thousand different wizards - oh no, it was much more. Two thousand, three thousand, perhaps ten thousand, chanting and screaming, their voices melding with the sounds of death and battle, flying through the air in a strange formation, going in circles, almost as if they had been swept away by an awful hurricane…

Hydrus felt something knock at the back of his head. Pain… pain… a shriek burst through his lips, and he found himself choking on a thick, viscous liquid. _Blood_, he thought, as he spat on the grass, heaving and wheezing.

_Stand up you fool, _he could almost hear Quirinus Quirrell roar. _If you stay idle in battle, you're only welcoming a quick death. Stand up or die here, with blood flowing from your lips._

Hydrus could not stand. His arms felt thick and heavy, and whenever he tried to lift his head, more of that sticky blood came shooting from his mouth, flying through his nostrils, until he breathed that foul red liquid, the salty taste of iron forever on his lips.

But he could see, and despite the tears swimming in his vision, despite the blackness creeping along the edges of his sight, Hydrus could see the whirlwind of bodies, flying and flying, bringing the bright blue-golden sky as they flew, swirling and swirling like a hundred thousand honey bees… going and going, surrounding the centre…

And then the honey bees parted, flying outwards, zooming as they went, their wands swishing and flicking, a thousand incantations uttered from their mouths in half a thousand tongues, but it left the middle bare, and for the first time, he could see what they had flown around, protecting with their bodies.

Red it was. Red and golden, as if it were the dawn, with its bright, beautiful light, shining and glowing.

_Rebirthal, _Hydrus thought. _The dawn of a new era._

Feathers flowed from head to tail, its talons sharper than knives. The phoenix darted here and then there, and then it opened its golden beak and screamed.

A cheer spread across the Order and the ten thousand wizards, flying on broomsticks, swarming in the air like starved wasps, began to chant. "_DUMBLEDORE,_" they yelled. "_ALL HAIL DUMBLEDORE._"

A headache had begun to pound its way through his head, the pain so horrible and terrible that Hydrus thought he might pass out, but he heard the chanting, and he knew what it meant… and yet… Dumbledore had been chained to the ceiling of Hogwarts. This could not be. How could they hail a man who could not appear?

And yet he found himself raising his head and sniffling blood down his throat, swallowing the thick, viscous liquid, feeling the salt burn his throat. His forehead roared with agony, and he found himself screaming in tune with the ten thousand wasps, his voice hoarse and marked with screeches.

On and on they yelled. _DUMBLEDORE, _it went, as a Ribalsky nearest to him was struck down by a purple-blue spell. _DUMBLEDORE, _they cried, as the smoke from the inflamed grass reached the sky, blown by the wind. _DUMBLEDORE, _they yelled, as the great red-and-gold phoenix spread its wings and opened its beak and _cawed._

A blinding light came over them all, white as fresh-fallen snow, white as pure sunlight, white as a bloodless corpse, and for seconds afterwards, Hydrus found himself blinking furiously, tears clawing down his face in rivulets of blood-water. Something hung from the talons of the great firebird, something thin as a twig with old, parched robes of a faded blue, with thin silver-brown whiskers clinging to his sagged chin. The smoke from the fiery grass came to lick the man's bare legs, but he kicked and they curled away, a chastised child.

"_NOOOOO,"_ Hydrus screamed. He choked on something; ashes it might have been, or blood. It made no difference; his throat burned a thousand times worse than before. "_NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO."_

But he could not hear his words, no more than he could hear the screams of the Ribalsky or the cheers of the wasps. He could only see - see the pale man land onto the dry yellow grass, the smoke and fire parting for him. He could only watch as the five thousand Ribalsky shimmered into view, the glamours and charms sloughing off their robes and flesh like wet mud, choking and heaving from the fire, screaming as it jumped across their robes, licking at their flesh. He could only lie there and gape, as Albus Dumbledore waved his arms and the world came to a stop before his feet.

His head burned with pain… with a pain so horrendous and terrible that he thought he might vomit there and then, but somehow… somehow he found himself back on his feet, his eyes burning from the smoke, his throat parched and hoarse and stinging with the bitter taste of salt. Someone came charging at him, their brown robes rippling as if blown by an invisible gust of wind, black ashes swirling around him as if he were a demon from hell, screaming in Dutch.

The wizard swished his wand through the gloom, and a barrage of colour came flying for Hydrus. Somehow he ducked and somehow he found himself lying on the ground once more, rolling down the hill, his black cloak bright with golden-orange gems, glimmering like… like _fire._

_Help me, _Hydrus wanted to yell. _Someone save me… Marik or Quirrell… Narcissa… mother… please…. PLEASE… HELP ME._

He thought he heard himself mumble a word from his blood-soaked lips, but it might have just as easily been the crackling fury of the bright orange flames, ravening the dry grass, gobbling all flesh it could find.

_But not me, _Hydrus thought. _Not me…_

Every breath burned like true fire, and a halo of smoke floated in the sky, alive with tiny waps, flying in and out, ribbons of a thousand colours zooming with them. There was purple and blue, green and gold, silver and maroon. Most of all, there was white, as the man… the man in the faded blue robes with thin arms and a thinner face… as he spun and flew and waved his hands. Magic flowed from his fingertips, bursting with power and energy.

_Was it always meant to be a trap? _Hydrus wondered. His thoughts had gotten slower and slower, as if his mind had been replaced with jelly, his wits left to contend with what little remained of his sane thoughts. _Where is the Dark Lord? Where?_

He tried to look, but he was always being kicked; sometimes he knocked against a leg or an arm or a corpse of some sort. Other times he rolled into blazes of fire, listening as the roar of the flames became all he heard. The smoke… the smoke stayed ever-constant, forever shifting, swirling as if it were a true beast. Sometimes it went orange, and when it did, it looked rather like a snake; a snake as large as Hogwarts itself, with ten heads or one, rippling like the surface of a lake, hissing and screaming and snapping its jaws at the phoenix and the little flies, zooming through the sky.

Sometimes the snake would lash out and try to take a mouthful of the pale man's robes, but he only needed to flick his fingers, and the heads would jerk away. Sometimes they were snakes with long tails… but other times it was a dragon; a great big dragon of golden scales lined with glowing orange, alive, ringed in black smoke, with horns made of blood-red.

It looked an awful lot like Norberta.

_My dragon, _Hydrus thought sleepily. Only his dragon had been black-purple, with scales that shimmered like obsidian. _And it was never that large…_

His eyelids had gotten terribly heavy. The crackle of flames just barely drowned all of the sounds of horror and battle; if he closed his eyes, he might have been able to convince himself that he had fallen asleep by a hearth.

_But you must stay awake, _a voice insisted, growing smaller with every word. _For Narcissa and Draco and Daphne and Hermione._

Yes… yes that sounded important.

Hydrus tried to stand up once more, but his right arm wobbled awkwardly, and something pale jutted from his elbow, slick with blood. He coughed once more, and red-streaked phlegm came through.

_I'm dying, _he realized. The thought made him giddy. _I'm dying! _

His eyes had been watering without end as he tumbled down the grassy hill, but suddenly the tears went away, and as he skidded over something hard and round, his limp body splashed into a river, as cold as a winter morning. He sputtered and choked, his arms jerking wildly, but somehow he found himself lying on mud, his right elbow scarred and dirty and red.

Fresh air came upon him, crisp and cool and wonderful. Hydrus took a thousand mouthfuls, savouring the sweet taste. And then… he looked to the sky, his neck screaming, his head pounding as he tried… as he tried to make sense of the black smoke that loomed above him.

The fiery dragon was gone. In its place were a thousand grey shrouds, as large as the flies buzzing through the air, ribbons of silver silk flying after them. They were so high… so high that they seemed like little dots, dancing here and there, floating like leaves in the wind, a thousand different colours, as beautiful as a sunrise.

He felt at peace. The flames still crackled, but that was a faraway sound. Hydrus Malfoy closed his eyes, a smile on his blood-soaked lips…

And suddenly he was awake once more, only he flew in the sky, propelled by invisible wings, floating, his black robes trailing behind him like curls of smoke. His fingers were long and grey, thin like reeds and tingling with _power._

When he swished his wand, light came forth; deep purple and dark blue. They streaked through the sky, bright and beautiful against the field of greyish smoke and white clouds… only to be deflected by a hastily erected shield. He could feel frustration boil in the pits of his stomach, filled with vengeance and a hunger for blood, along with… with something else. Something that squeezed his guts and wrung them about; something that felt oddly like… like _fear._

The thin man knew many tricks, and even without a wand he was a thing to behold - for whenever Hydrus would swish his wand or yell a curse, his little flies came zooming in between, blocking, distracting, doing all they could to give the old man time to recover his strength. They were measly spells, and they buzzed like true wasps, doing more harm than good. But just like bugs, they fled into a disorganized frenzy soon enough when the Demontors came.

Flowing through the air like leaves blown in the wind, the grey shrouds had come, a thousand, two thousand, their power unstoppable, their force impossibly great. Riders - those horrible insects - buzzed, fainted, screamed and cried before falling from the sky like true flies. Hydrus watched them with a cruel smile on his face.

They were weak; the stuff of foreign Ministries, with little backbone. The thin man was not weak. He had flinched when the Dementors came, and for a moment, his grasp on the handle on his broomstick had weakened. Hydrus had prayed that he fall, and had even sent a barrage of curses in his direction, but Albus Dumbledore had dodged and crouched and his horrible pet phoenix had clasped its talons on the man's patched robes and dragged him where his grip failed.

But despite that, he was getting weaker. With every barrage of spells that he sent, Albus Dumbledore was slower to move, slower to dodge, and this time, when he sent an entrail-expelling curse in his direction, the ex-Headmaster was hit in the left arm.

A hoarse scream came from his lips, almost unheard against the sounds of battle, but he saw the blood and a queer smile came to his face. The phoenix cawed, and it let go of Albus Dumbledore's robes before flapping its red-gold wings and zooming towards Hydrus, its feathers afire, screaming as it went.

He flicked his wand, but the bird was quick; newborn phoenixes were nothing if not nimble. The curse flew off in the distance, a bright green, sure to hit one buzzing fly or another. For a minute, an hour, or a day, Hydrus danced this terrible dance with the flaming phoenix, uttering curses and yelling spells, screaming when they missed and cheering when they didn't. Fluttering to the right, flying to the left. One flick of a wand, one burst of golden feathers. He set a trap of intricate charms, but was only foiled when a passing fly took the brunt of the curse, streaking by just in time to save the ex-Headmaster's little bird.

Where were those Dementors?

Hydrus looked up for a moment, and saw them, fighting their own battle against tongues of fire and silvery animals.

On and on he danced with the flaming phoenix, until Albus Dumbledore had grown so pale that all his blood seemed to have come out his left elbow. He slumped in his seat, looking more dead than alive.

The phoenix had no choice then. He zoomed to the man and clenched his talons into the man's pale robes and flapped his wings, a scream on his lips -

"No," Hydrus saw Albus Dumbledore's lips say. "No, Fawkes. They fight for me. I… I must fight for them…"

The flies were coming closer and closer now, zooming in the air with brooms, yelling in a thousand tongues. Some fired spells and missed, others might have hit him if he stayed idle. Hydrus flicked away a spell from a passing bug, and in return for his grievances, he sent the Killing Curse, and watched from the corner of his eye as the Auror died.

A hundred little insects swarmed Hydrus Malfoy, licking at his defenses, trying here, trying there, doing little and only losing their lives. Yet for every one that died, two took its place, and more and more swarmed, as if they were honey bees and he were their king.

Albus Dumbledore was gone, lost in the mass of zooming corpses, his bright red phoenix hidden by layers of bodies.

"_BRING ME ALBUS DUMBLEDORE," _Hydrus roared. He sent a spray of fire towards a large clump of insects and watched as only half burned. "_WHERE IS YOUR MIGHTY LEADER? SHOW HIM TO ME."_

But the flies were deaf as well as numerous. They only flew closer and closer, some daring to dart into the centre, trying their luck with the Killing Curse or a well-placed spell. He batted them away easily, but the sheer numbers had begun to concern him. Already the mass of bodies were so thick that his wand arm had begun to tire. His temples ached from thinking of the incantations in his mind, and his body had begun to tremble in flight.

_I cannot do this for very long, _Hydrus thought. He sent a complex string of curses towards the ring of flies. They perished, falling from their brooms and screaming as they went, but more Aurors took their place… more, more, more.

_Where is Bella? Where is Rodolphus? Rabastan? My Death Eaters? _Where are my Death Eaters?

Something grazed his arm then, and a burst of pain struck his leg. Hydrus screamed a curse and sent a torrent of fire in their direction, but it was too late. His concentration had been broken and he fell from the sky, the world zooming as he went.

He stopped himself mid flight, just before the ground. Blackened grass met his hands, and dark smoke wafted all around him, as thick as a winter cloak. Perhaps that would be his saving grace today; he could not see what loomed above, nor could the flies with their vexing numbers spot him.

Hydrus Malfoy jumped to his feet. One of his legs would not work properly, but when he tapped it with his wand, the bone went back in and he felt no more pain. The wind blew hard and strong this morning, and soon what remained of the smoke would clear, but even if he had Bella at his side, Hydrus could not stand against what remained of the Aurors.

But all he needed to do was slice the head from the snake, and in order to do that, he must find Albus Dumbledore.

Hydrus Malfoy could not see the man, but he could summon creatures.

It took less than the flick of his fingers. The bird struggled against his call; he could feel its power writhing, swirling, caught in a futile struggle, but Lord Black was a thousand times stronger than some firebird. A blur of red-and-gold came streaming towards him, hidden by wafts of dark smoke, cawing and screaming, a thin man in pale robes clasped in its talons.

Hydrus caught the bird by the neck and jammed his fingers into its amber eyes, feeling the creature wriggle and squirm, its sharp talons knifing through his pale grey skin. Blood came raining down his arm in silver-gold rivulets, shining bright and clear even in the cloud of black smoke. When he no longer felt the little bird thrashing against his arms, Hydrus knew it was dead.

He stood and tossed the corpse aside, watching as it turned to ashes.

The black smoke swallowed what remained.

Albus Dumbledore lay still on the blackened grass, his pale blue robes dirty with ashes and cinders, bright red in some places, coated with feces in others. A feather lay on his back; red and gold and shimmering just as Hydrus' blood had. Cuts and bruises marred his arms, swirling like white marble stained with hues of pink and purple, as horrible as the yellowed bone that poked from his left elbow. His eyes blinked open when Lord Black approached, and a feeble moan came through.

Starvation had not become Albus Dumbledore, as it was for many of his prisoners. He had shot spells and returned them with grace and speed but age… age slowed a man down more than anything else known to the world. Coupled with malnourishment and poor living conditions, it was a wonder, a true wonder that the ex-Headmaster could even sit still on a broomstick.

Hydrus took the man's neck in one hand, and with the other, he whisked away the smoke. He was flying now, flying through the sky, surrounded by a shield wall that deflected all spells, swerving when an Unforgivable came his way.

_And look at them. Hypocrites all._

"_I HAVE ALBUS DUMBLEDORE,"_ Hydrus roared. His voice seemed to shake the very foundation of the Earth. The Dementors had won their battle against the Patronuses; they floated in a circle around what remained of the Aurors, grey cloaks whispering with the wind. "_YOUR GREAT LEADER WILL DIE. DO YOU HEAR ME? ALBUS DUMBLEDORE IS DEAAAAAAAAAD."_

He could feel the man's weak fingers moving, shifting, swirling…

Only a hundred Aurors still lived, perhaps even less. Some flew near the ground, flying next to the surface, darting here and there, killing what remained of the last Ribalsky, screaming in a thousand tongues.

And then… Albus Dumbledore opened his mouth, and a pair of yellow-brown teeth could be seen as his parched lips moved up and down, a mumbling voice coming through.

"_Cy…"_ he began, before breaking into a fit of coughs. His wrinkled skin was cloaked in ashes and soot, what remained of the whiskers clinging to his chin now blacker than darkness. "_Cybus…. Cybus Alea…"_

His body grew green and bright, the fluorescent hue of the Killing Curse, his fingers smoking. The pain came upon Hydrus, burning like fire. Every instinct told him to let go, but he clutched onto the man's neck with all the force that was left inside of him.

"_YOU WILL DIE,"_ Lord Black screamed, the fire burning from his arms to his legs and everywhere in between. "_ALBUS DUMBLEDORE WILL DIE."_

"Yes," Albus Dumbledore whispered, "and you will join me."

The agony only worsened, hotter than the flames, a thousand needles… worse than the time he had left his mortal body eleven years' past. Hydrus threw back his head _and screamed._

He hurtled through the air, the smoke, the sky, the _world_ turned to a haze of grey and agony, burning from his head to his feet and to every little inch of his body in between.

This time, when Hydrus met the blackened grass, he could do nothing but shriek as it dug its dark fingers into his face, the pain of the impact slithering through him like molten steel, devouring what remained of his sanity, nibbling all that was sane until the moon, the stars, the sun, his _life_ had been reduced to a pair of pale blue eyes, shining like the midmorning sky.

With it came a voice. A thin, broken voice; brittle and starved; the voice of a man on the brink of death. "_It is important… it is important to fight… and fight again… and keep fighting, for only then can evil be kept at bay… though never quite eradicated…"_

And then, Albus Dumbledore pressed his fingers onto his shiny grey forehead, saying one, final word.

"_Praenium."_

And the hill exploded.

* * *

_**A/N:**_

**Writing this chapter has been an interesting experience to say the least... _that being said_ I've taken some time to just think about what exactly is going on in this fanfic. I'm not even entirely sure myself.**

**I think I started this project too soon, without an actual plan going forward. I had an idea, but not much of a plot, and I wrote stuff and it was kind of shit. So then I started Part 2, wrote more stuff, had a plan (ish), didn't really work and now we're here. This chapter was cool I guess you could say. And epic(?) but the logic and reasoning leading up this entire battle is a bit lacking. **

**I've taken a lot of time to think about your words (KingZeRopL) and I agree. This stuff is going everywhere but nowhere, and it's a (not even hot) mess. Stuff's going off here, more of it's going there, and by the twenty-eighth chapter, the war should have been like 90% done. After that... like... I dunno. It never should have been this long. The scenes, character actions and whatnot leading up to this moment don't match up with what they want. I think I'm gonna take some time (a lot of time) to actually work this through and figure out what the hell am I gonna do with this. I have the next chapter written and I have the first four pages of the one after. I'll post the next chapter - you guys deserve to know the aftermath of what happens here - but after that, I think I'll be taking time off. Lots of time. This story is a poor excuse of even shitty fanfiction.**

**Special thanks to KingZeRopL for sticking through and taking the time to review my most recent chapters and being there to point out when the stuff looked really bad. Special thanks to all my readers out there who have taken the time to read this fanfic :)**

**You guys are all awesome but this stuff is kinda going in circles and publishing it on here only makes me wanna rinse out my eyeballs with soap and water.**

**As always, thanks for watching and I hope to see you all next week!**


	36. Chapter 36

They moved him to his bedroom when Hydrus woke for the first time, on the seventh floor of Hogwarts, in what once was an abandoned classroom. The blinds had been drawn, his blanket a soft white. A gloomy darkness cloaked the room, but it was better, he decided, than tumbling down a hill, feeling his arm crack and snap and pop in all the wrong ways.

"How many?" he whispered, his voice softer than the early morning wind. He dared not do much more. His ribs were broken, Fevolar told him, and they had to regrow the bones in his right arm along with some of his skull; something had caught him at the back of his head, and the house-elves fed him seven potions a day to combat whatever curse it was.

But compared to the rest, Hydrus had gotten off easy. He heard them, mumbling and murmuring and _screaming_ from half a dozen rooms away, begging for an end to their suffering, for relief and salvation and all the things in between.

Prillia fumbled with his covers and neatened the flower on his bed stand before answering. "Now is not the time -"

"_Tell me."_

She looked away. "Many… many lives were lost. Albus Dumbledore, they say… they say he died in an explosion… and with him…"

Hydrus felt his stomach roil. So he had seen it for true, as the man pressed his old, wrinkled fingers onto his forehead… the _pain, _as he slammed into the blackened grass, as the man had whispered those words… his final words... What had they been?

_"Praenium,"_ he whispered. The word sounded eerie and ghost-like, bringing horrible shivers down his spine. To her he said, "_And?"_

Prillia looked to the left and then to the right, squirming as if watched by invisible eyes. She lowered her voice. "The - the Dark Lord."

Hydrus might have laughed if his every breath did not hurt. "That… that cannot be. He is immortal. Invincible… five thousand Ribalsky… a thousand Dementors… where…? How…? W-w-hy?"

He could feel Lord Voldemort somehow. He knew. He _knew_ that the Dark Lord still breathed. He knew.

_I am him, and he is me._

Prillia put a vial to his lips. "Rest, Hydrus. Master… the Dark Lord… it is complicated. Prillia does not have his leave to speak of anymore."

The glass was cool, the potion bitter as kale, and just as green. He choked it down and felt his eyelashes flutter.

_No, _Hydrus wanted to scream. _Tell me MORE. You say he's dead yet you're still bound to him. How? And what of Marik and Quirinus Quirrell? Of the Inner Circle and the five thousand Ribalsky? I saw a dragon in the sky, Prillia. It was golden and blood-red, made of fire with horns of bright orange as tall as this castle. Did we win? Did we lose? Tell me, Prillia. TELL ME._

But the world turned darker and darker until only blackness remained.

And when the light had gone out in his world, Hydrus Malfoy dreamed of a thousand wasps zooming through the sky amidst smoke and fire, pale blue cloaks streaming from their shoulders, shimmering like the morning sky. They buzzed and roared, and they landed on his pale grey skin and shoved their stingers into his flesh and gnawed at his arms and legs, until only fiery pain remained.

When he woke, it was Narcissa that sat at his side, sponging his face with a damp towel. She had lost weight, and her hair lay haphazardly down her back, but a wan smile came upon her face when she saw him stir. "Rest now. I know there is much you wish to speak of, but that can be done later."

His ribs had healed; Hydrus could finally breathe without the cumbersome pain. He sat up, refused Narcissa's help and immediately felt a headache stir in the back of his head. His eyes watered when they met hers, but he kept his gaze firm. "Did we win?"

She bit her lip and looked away, just as Prillia had once done. "You must… it is complicated… the Dark Lord…"

Hydrus could feel the irritation bubbling in the pit of his stomach, furious and ravening, savage like the firestorm he had seen, lying on the riverbed. "_Tell. Me."_

"It is not my place to say…"

"_Then bring him to me."_

Narcissa set down the towel and stood. "You're in no fit state to stand… much less walk. You have been so brave, my -" She stopped herself. A flush crept across her cheeks and she looked away, pursing her lips. "The battle was bloody. You are lucky to have made it with so little injuries… the rest…"

"Burns_,_" Hydrus guessed. He had seen them, heard them and _smelled _them, their flesh crackling like pork skin, the scent intoxicating in a strange way. _I am lucky. Lucky in a horrible, twisted way._

"Yes. Burns. You… you need to rest. Sleep. Sleep, Hydrus, and when you wake, I will tell you anything else you wish to know."

"Anything?"

"Yes." A mournful smile came upon her lips. "Anything."

The twist on of her mouth could only mean bitter news. Acid bubbled in his stomach, mixed with a deep sense of foreboding. He had dreamed of it, in a strange way. He had dreamed of it; dreamed of the man in faded blue robes, with wrinkles lining his flesh, dragged by a bird of fire, surrounded by a thousand flies, buzzing at his bidding. He had dreamed of the pain, as he hurtled to the blackened grass, felt the _agony_ of his landing, the _pain_ when the man had pressed his fingers to his grey forehead… and last of all, he remembered the words, uttered in Latin, commanding the dirt, the stone, the water, the ashes… commanding all of it to fly high into the sky, bringing with it -

_All of the Death Eaters and the Ribalsky. _

Shivers ran down his arms, and something cool was placed at his lips.

"Stop," Hydrus commanded. He pushed away the glass. "Did the hills… did Dumbledore… did he die from an explosion?"

Narcissa stared at him with a new sort of look; fascination and grief and curiosity. "How…? Did you see?"

_I was there. I was there when it happened, my grey… grey fingers clenched around Albus Dumbledore's tiny throat, ready to squeeze the life from him when… he said those words. _Praenium._ It means explosion in Latin. But I have no grey fingers, Narcissa. And I cannot fly. It was not me who held his throat, but it was all the same. I died in that explosion, yet I am still here. It was a dream, Narcissa. The same sort of dream I have where I am the Dark Lord, sitting on a throne of cushions, reading a book, writing letters, petting Nagini. The same sort of dream where _I am _the snake. Does it make sense? No. But I saw the hill explode, yet I know he still lives. Somehow. I can feel him, Narcissa. Like the tingle at the back of my neck; instinctively I know. _

Hydrus took the vial from Narcissa's hand and downed the green potion in one swig. _See how it feels to have _your_ curiosity forever unsatisfied._ Darkness came creeping in on his vision, and the last thing he saw was Narcissa, staring at him with confusion.

When he woke for the third time, Hydrus felt something cool on his scalp; some sort of salve that smelled of soil and a forest after rain. Fevolar stood by his head and smeared it on.

He shuddered against the cold paste. "Where is Narcissa?"

"Lady Malfoy is busy at the moment -"

"She promised to answer any questions I might have had."

Fevolar set down the glass container, his floppy ears twitching as they always did when he was nervous. "Of course. A moment please."

He bowed and disappeared with a soft _pop_.

Narcissa took his hand when she sat down, her pale face thinner than before, the space underneath her eyes puffy and blue like a bruise. "What do you wish to know?"

_Where is the Dark Lord? How is Marik? Is Quirinus Quirrell alright? What happened to the Ribalsky? How many died in the explosion? Is the Mongrel gone? Sirius Black, the man who was once best friends with my biological parents; is he gone? Is Bellatrix Lestrange dead, that spiteful bitch?_ "Who is dead?"

Narcissa took both of his hands and cradled them as if he were a newborn child. "The hill exploded… accounts differ… but… but it is said that Albus Dumbledore… and the Dark Lord stood in the centre, locked in a duel of great proportions when -"

"When Albus Dumbledore touched him on the forehead."

She gave him the same look as she had done before; one of suspicion and curiosity. "We do not know. But… Albus Dumbledore is dead. And with him went… went the Dark Lord's mortal body but -"

"His soul lives on."

Hydrus knew, in a strange way. He could _feel_ the Dark Lord, the purple-red eyes swirled with bronze and dark like the night sky… he could _feel_ him, somehow. As if they were kindred spirits, connected by a link so strong it was only broken by death.

_I am him, and he is me, _Hydrus thought bitterly. _I am a maniac, waging a war on a country, losing my sanity as time passes. And I am also a boy of twelve years, who has made a slew of wrong choices._

"How…?"

He ignored her words. "Is Marik alright? Quirinus Quirrell?"

"Your friend…" Narcissa paused and brushed the hair from his forehead. "He… he did not make it, Hydrus."

A thousand years' past, as a boy, Lord Black might have wept to never see a newfound friend again, but he was not a boy; he was something older than even a man. No tears came to his face, and no grief clenched his heart. Emptiness lurked in his chest, neither cold nor hot, but black and white and every colour in between.

_I knew. I knew that as well, somehow. The explosion was too great, and Quirinus Quirrell might have shielded himself but Marik… Marik was using his left-hand… he would not have been capable of reacting in time…_

Or so he told himself. But the real reason rang loud and clear in his mind, and Hydrus dare not think it.

_All of his friends are gone, and he lives in a castle filled with rotting corpses and a mad man with no friends to be found but me - who spends his time faraway in the company of his dragon._

Death would have been a welcome respite. If Marik had not died earlier in the battle… That made him sad. Not losing his friend, but knowing that he must have lived for the past two months in solitude with nothing but regret and grief to make his heartache.

"Hydrus?" came Narcissa's voice. Something squeezed his left hand.

There was no time to wallow in pity. "Bring me to the Dark Lord."

"You are in no -"

"_Bring me._"

So she did. Narcissa helped him down six flights of stairs and lent him her arm when his head began to turn and twist with such vigor that Hydrus thought he might retch. They came upon the doors of the Great Hall soon enough, and when he rapped his knuckles against the wooden doors, the Dark Lord bid them enter.

The High Table had been cast away in favor of a singular throne, larger and greater than the blackwood and obsidian seat had ever been. It rose like dark smoke, curling and twisting, inhuman fingers poking in jagged ways, as tall as the man who sat upon its spiked surface.

Beautiful he was, as lean as a spear with soft robes of dark grey. His skin was white like marble, his hair blacker than ink, and his eyes… his eyes were bright red and swirling with fury, the most captivating part of his complexion.

Hydrus knew that this was the Dark Lord.

He dropped to his knees.

"You are dismissed, Narcissa. I thank you for bringing my water snake to me."

Hydrus did not dare lift his eyes from the cold floor, but he heard the swish of her robes as she bowed and the soft steps of her feet as she left the room. When the door clanged shut, the Dark Lord gave him leave to rise.

"You are the only one of my entourage that is not bed-ridden, do you know that, Hydrus Malfoy?"

On his feet, standing in the cold, empty hall, he felt a strange coldness that had little to do with the weather outside. A flick of his eyes upwards told him all he needed to know. There was a space where Albus Dumbledore once hanged and where Remus Lupin once dwelled, the ceiling now only the smooth, curved surface of stone, untouched and devoid of hanging bodies.

"I… I must be very lucky then, my Lord."

_"Master,"_ came his sharp rebuke. "You _will_ address me by my given title."

His thoughts had turned jelly. He could feel his tongue grow thick and clumsy. "Forgive me, master."

"I ought to have you killed. We were betrayed, in the same way that the Order knew of our intentions, that day, so many months ago. Was it you, Hydrus Malfoy? Could you have sent that letter, just as you might have all those months past? Blaming Remus Lupin for your crimes, so that he may be punished, and you could walk free?"

It felt as if they were having the same conversation a thousand times over again. But the tension remained, and Hydrus… Hydrus still felt the rumbling of his stomach and the sweatiness of his hands, for he _hadn't _told anyone, but would the Dark Lord care for the truth?

"I am loyal to you -"

"To me, yes. Me. I have another host body, Hydrus Malfoy. Prettier than my last one, as young and beautiful as youth itself. Do you know how I lost my old one? How it was destroyed in an explosion, killing all of the Ribalsky and most of my Death Eaters? The President of MACUSA has been hounding me with letters. Clentil his name is. Sounds very much like the bean. All of his most elite soldiers are gone. He writes to me, and I write back, but there is little love between us. Of his twelve envoys, ten are dead, including that Rangil who _dares_ laugh before my face. I would send him back the other two's heads for all the pleasure that his letters have brought me."

"As is your right -"

"_My right." _The Dark Lord laughed an insane, cruel laugh that echoed from the Great Hall to the tops of the Astronomy Tower, his haunted giggles filled with anger. "You _dare_ utter these words. Ten thousand Aurors were flying in the sky. Why would Rufus Scrimgeour have brought ten thousand when only five would have been sufficient? They were mounted on broomsticks as well. My Inferi could do little and less to them. Someone told Rufus Scrimgeour. You do not want your brother to be harmed, do you, Hydrus Malfoy?"

"Of - of course not, my - master."

"No, of course not. I do not like betrayals, Hydrus Malfoy. Nor do I like spies. Clentil hounds me with letters and letters, and I fear I must soon play host to the president of MACUSA, for all his ponderous qualities. You will be fully healed by then, and what remain of my Death Eaters…" The Dark Lord had fallen into a strange reverie as he talked, his voice gone soft and dreamy as if he were speaking to himself. He jerked suddenly, and cut his finger open on one of the thin, smoke-like spires that came from his throne. The pain seemed to remind him of who he was. "What are you doing here, Hydrus Malfoy? Spying on me, were you?"

_Madness. Insanity. _"Of course… of course not, my Lord -"

"_MASTER. YOU WILL CALL ME MASTER OR FACE MY TERRIBLE WRATH."_

"Yes… my apologies, master."

The Dark Lords knuckles had gone white as he clenched them against his handrests. "_GET OUT. GET OUT!"_

His black hair shined like obsidian, as dark as Norberta's scales, and his pale skin was as smooth as marble, but when he sneered and screamed, great gaping wrinkles came upon his face, and for a moment, he looked no prettier than his old body, silver and grey, more monster than human. _His appearance has changed, but what lies inside… _Hydrus left the Great Hall, turning his back to a man with fiery red eyes and a body as beautiful as his nature was ugly.

__(O.O)__

For the remainder of the month, Hydrus did not see the Dark Lord and his new body with the same furious red eyes. Instead he spent his every waking hour with Norberta, stroking her smooth scales and fearing Lord Voldemort would choose to send her away. Sometimes he brought Narcissa along, and though she never asked, Hydrus took it upon himself to keep her as far away from her son as possible. She would laugh and smile on the days he brought her to his dragon, but a sadness lingered in her eyes, speaking of grief and a thousand other emotions.

Draco ate more with every passing day, but he had become a vegetable in all but name. His eyes were glazed, his mouth slack, and he would eat if you pressed a spoon to his lips, and he would drink if you tipped water onto his tongue, but if you asked him a question, he would tell you nothing but "Milly".

"Can you tell her how much I miss her?" Draco had asked a thousand times. "The flowers she brought today are very pretty. But the rose on the left is wilting. Is Milly alright? I haven't seen her in so long."

Narcissa would weep the worst after those questions, and tended to lock herself in her room, accepting no meals and barring all house-elves from entering. Hydrus himself had taken to bringing her food.

_Marik had no one, _he told himself. _But Narcissa has me, for all the horrible company that I am._

She threw the food in his face sometimes, but mostly she kept silent and ate when Hydrus asked her to, thanked him for his actions and returned back underneath her covers with a puffy face and hollow eyes.

A new sort of horror descended on the castle. Before, it would be death; the death of the young ex-students, the death of the Hogwarts' professors, the death of Neville Longbottom whose face Hydrus could no longer remember clearly. It had tortured him from the moment he woke to the moment he fell into twisted nightmares; the scent of the Great Hall, the screams of the hostages… on and on it had gone, until it sounded as if he lived in an endless cycle of misery and brutality.

New corpses were nailed to the wall every day, but Hydrus could no longer bring himself to care. Instead, grief swirled through the air, thick with Narcissa's broken sobs and the silent ones that would never be shed for Marik. He could hear screams: Bellatrix Lestrange, Rodolphus, Rabastan, Crouch, Yaxley, and the list went on. Worst of all was Quirinus Quirrell, but he never shouted. He never screamed.

Hydrus had visited him once, and seen the horrible patchwork of burns and scars that had made their way across the man's pale flesh, black and pink and red and crackled like pork skin. Quirinus Quirrell had not stirred, and the house-elf tending to him at the time - Prillia, that sweet creature - had told him it was a mercy. The burns had driven deep and hard, scorching all the way to his bone, and a little further.

"If he had been a muggle, your friend would not be alive," she told him, as she rubbed a thick white paste over his crackled skin.

_He's not my friend,_ Hydrus meant to tell her, but if he was not that, then what was he?

The first to wake had been Rodolphus, screaming bloody murder as the moon shone white and bright. A full moon, Lord Black had not failed to notice. He had sent the packages he promised to the crone and their new leader: Doromond, who had once volunteered to be one of Hydrus' scouts. It would be a long and painful night for them.

No one had sent for him, but Hydrus made his way to the third floor regardless, and pushed open the door to find a half a dozen house-elves popping in and out, vials and potions and herbs in their arms.

Despite the late hour, a fire burned in the hearth, lighting the room with a shifting orange glow. He could only barely make out a bed with its inhabitant: a man of forty years, his face the colour of dark bronze, his sharp cheekbones only made sharper from his time spent recovering. A patchwork of mottled burns crawled along his arms, but somehow, they were easier to look at than Quirinus Quirrell's.

"_FIRE,"_ Rodolphus screamed. His voice echoed, haunted and mournful. Girgham tried to coax him into taking a drink from the glass pressed at his lips, but he swung an arm, and the house-elf was sent sprawling.

"Hydrus," Elinor squeaked when she saw him. "You - you -"

Rodolphus kicked his legs and one caught her in the stomach.

Somehow he found himself walking through the press of house-elves and kneeling at the man's right-hand side. "_Stop,_" he told him.

Rodolphus screamed louder. "_FIRE. FIRE."_

His fist knocked against a whole tray of potions, sending them clattering to the floor, a thousand multi-coloured liquids exploding before a poor house-elf's face.

Hydrus knew what he meant. "Put out the fire."

It was done immediately, and finally, Rodolphus quieted to sleepy mumbles.

_And here I am, comforting a Death Eater._ The thought brought a wry smile to his face. _But he has suffered too, _another voice whispered. _Every night, for three-and-a-half months now, he has had to contend with the screams of the Dark Lord and his beloved wife, as he takes her in ways that Rodolphus will never be allowed to do again._

Hydrus squeezed his hand, the left, untouched by the web of burns before taking his leave of the room.

It took another two weeks before the Mongrel woke, and after that, what remained of the Death Eaters rose from their comas day after day, spidery lines running across their faces, skin burned and crinkled, reds and blacks and browns. Some healed quickly and others had been burned by the legendary Fiendfyre that the Dark Lord had cast; those scars would never disappear.

When at last Lord Voldemort assembled what remained of his Inner Circle, only nine were present. Bellatrix Lestrange took her customary place at his right-hand side, her face swirled with burns, half of her hair gone, to never regrow. The curls left untouched by the fire were black and limp and a pale imitation of her glorious head of hair.

If she was bothered by it, Bellatrix did not let it show. Instead, where Yaxley had applied copious layers of glamours to hide the macabre pattern of burns, she flaunted her baldness with simpering smiles and a raised chin. Her lips were cracked, and every time she moved them, blood would come seeping through.

Of them sitting around the table, only three were untouched by the blaze: Narcissa, who looked half a corpse herself, Hydrus, and the Dark Lord, his new body lithe and elegant and _beautiful_ where his old one was not. Even still they were a weak counter to MACUSA and their nine envoys, prim and proper in dark blue robes.

Rangil was dead, and in his place was another man named Terraglyss with coppery skin and black hair slick with gel. He wore an easy smile, as did the rest, but it did little to hide the bite behind their words.

"You have dealt a hefty blow to Rufus Scrimgeour and his allied countries," Terraglyss said, pushing up his wire-framed glasses and flipping through scrolls of parchment. "We must commend you for that. Nine thousand five hundred and eight-three dead. A remarkable number. Yet at what cost? There are many of your Death Eaters who are not with us today, and even more of the elite Ribalsky Squadron. A victory could be easy to gain, but bases are hidden under layers of Fidelius Charms, and you have no more spies. A war needs a plan. What is yours, Lord Voldemort?"

Terraglyss was no more scared of the Dark Lord than his predecessor had been.

_Yet he should be, _Hydrus thought, watching his red eyes narrow and his pale pink lips frown. _No life is too important… least of all mine._

"_Are you threatening me?"_

Terraglyss, with his absurd name, responded with the apathy of a barrister in court. "No. But MACUSA does like to gamble. A war without a plan is a war lost, and we here at MACUSA do not like to lose."

The Dark Lord did not respond. His fingers, just as long and spidery as his old ones, were white as they clenched the arm rests of his new blackwood and obsidian throne. "A country with food cannot think to fight a war. I intend to burn farms and cities and take the British Ministry once and for all."

Terry - for Terraglyss was too much to pronounce - nodded. "An excellent idea. Without many Aurors, Rufus Scrimgeour cannot think to stop you. How many of our numbers will you require?"

It was not to the envoy that the Dark Lord looked. His dark red eyes studied Hydrus Malfoy as he said, "I won't need any."

"Your numbers…"

Lord Voldemort smiled a twisted, cruel smile that made his beautiful face even more handsome. "I have a dragon."

Hydrus flinched. His mouth opened, but when the Dark Lord raised an eyebrow, he knew better than to say anything in response.

"A dragon," Terry mused. "The one I saw outside? A great beast he is. Very large. But only ten feet tall. A full grown Norwegian Ridgeback is at least thrice as much. A well-aimed spell… a bit of luck… and if he should fail?"

The Dark Lord turned his eyes back to Hydrus. "A shame. Fiendfyre should take care of the rest."

His heart was heavy and hard with terrors and worries and fears and a horrible, horrible sharp grief that made him want to double over and retch what little he had managed to eat. But there were nine envoys in the room, and the Dark Lord would kill Draco if he dared dishonor the Death Eaters tonight.

Terry took a sip of the rich red wine. "Wouldn't it be wiser to use the Fiendfyre directly? A mature dragon is a dangerous threat, and while a child possesses the dangerous flames, their scales are not hard enough to deflect spells."

"Well then. I should hope ours is a fast dragon."

_I'm sorry,_ Hydrus found himself thinking. _I'm sorry, Hagrid. I swore I would keep her safe… and I wish I could… but… I can't ship Norberta away or hide her in my manor… not with the Dark Lord so close. I'll… I'll give her a hug for you. Tonight. Before it's too late._

He might have cried then, but Narcissa gave a look from across the table, the first fierce, powerful and _insisting_ look she had given him in… in so long it shook him out of his grief-wrought stupor. The envoys were speaking, each of the nine in turn, pleasantries and plans, but what did they matter? What were some words compared to his sweet dragon's death?

For the rest of the dinner, Hydrus sat limp and silent in his seat, his heart heavy with ice, his hands shaking and shaking, quivering like leaves blown by furious winds. He jammed them under his lap and stared faraway at the wall of corpses, trying not to imagine Norberta's dead carcass.

"... a gift," Terry was saying, his wrinkled face breaking into a sudden smile. "I have brought a gift - more gifts, to cement our friendship."

The Dark Lord smiled his horrible, twisted, handsome smile. "You are too kind."

There was venom in his tone; hot and bubbling, filled with expectation and malice.

"If I may -" Terry clapped his wrinkled hands, the same gleeful smile on his face. Eight of the envoys left the Great Hall, bowing as they stood from their chairs, their dark blue robes swishing and swirling as they walked.

They came as quickly as they left, ornately carved wooden chests studded with gems of all colours in their hands, boxes and boxes of all sorts of lavish things set onto the floor at the Dark Lord's feet. Hydrus counted thirteen in all. An auspicious number.

The Dark Lord was a superstitious man.

_"And one must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives."_

Albus Dumbledore might have been dead, but Hydrus heard his voice all the same, drifting through the room in soft rasps, flying on thin wings made of treason.

_Albus Dumbledore might have been a pro-muggle sympathizer and an old codger to boot, but he never would have put Norberta up for the slaughter._ Of that, he was certain.

The Dark Lord opened the boxes with deft fingers, stroking the soft pelts he found, staring at the golden chalices and watching as wooden sculptures wrought with soft gold and red garnets twinkled in the light of the torches. "This is it?"

Gems and pretty things might have delighted little girls - even Daphne would squeal whenever she saw those - but to a Dark Lord, intent on conquering a continent and more… they were little and less.

Terry bowed. "There is one more. A gift, directly from President Clentil himself. He brings her to you with great trepidation and pride."

At that, Hydrus lifted his head, and watched as two of the envoys brought something between them; something bound in shackles that walked with an unsteady gait, its every footstep met with the clangour of its chains. The light of the torches only went so far; half of the Great Hall was cloaked in a semi-darkness. Hydrus had to squint to see what they brought forth.

"We found her on a ship," Terry was saying. "A most unwise decision, especially considering the means of… muggle transport that are available. She was headed for Canada… she tells me… we found her in the company of half a dozen werewolves… a muggle-born herself. It is a strange companionship for a little girl..."

And through the darkness came two men dragging along a little girl, her arms and legs bound by silver chains, glimmering with her every move.

"Canada is not far from our ports in Maine, and winter sea storms are a dangerous thing indeed…" Terry gave a shudder, the same sickening smile on his lips. He stared into Hydrus' eyes with the same coolness as the Dark Lord once did. "She had a most curious tale to tell. One of… a town named Hampstead and Souls of Fire and packs of werewolves… she tells us of her friend… her brave,_ noble_ friend who fought to become the leader of the _Animabus Igneis_, who saved her from a certain death, who shipped her away from this war. By the way she speaks of him, this girl is half in love with her savior."

Terry laughed a cold laugh.

"A girl and some werewolves are none of my concern."

"This one is a special girl. Why don't you tell everyone your name? Go on. Say it. _Say it."_

She lifted her head and ragged hair, dusted and dirty but golden in the light of the torches all the same, parted to make way for pale features. A bruise crawled along her face, faded and yellow. Cuts… cuts were everywhere, but they were superficial.

Hydrus let out a soft breath. It could have been worse.

The girl opened her mouth. A hoarse rasping sound could be heard, but when one of the envoys hit her in the stomach with the end of her chain, she coughed and spluttered and whimpered, but she spoke. "My name… Her… Hermione… Hermione Granger."

Terraglyss smiled.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Oooohhhh boy**

**Ok so. Shit kinda hits the fan and I was originally planning on having another two chapters before finishing off part 2 but... (as you can probably imagine) this entire fanfic is one ginormous hot mess and even thinking about this makes me wanna barf. So basically this is the last chapter I'm gonna post before going on a hiatus (don't know how long) and rework this entire thing into something legible. This may or may not mean starting an entirely new piece of work because this is one beyond-salvageable thing.**

**I'm really really really sorry to all my readers out there - this isn't even close to the best fanfic ever but I did end this chapter in a cliffhanger (it was an accident I swear) and... well I don't know how long this break will be but uhh yeah. This has been one hell of a thing to write, and even though a lot of this is le garbage, it's still the longest thing I've ever written and... yeah. **

**Well that's that.**

**As always, thanks to everyone who took the time to read my fanfic and see you all... well I don't know actually. **

**Just know that writing this has been pretty awesome.**

**Hope you had fun reading this :)**


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